Full Spectrum SeeD
by Peptuck
Summary: War is hell, and these six soldiers know it better than anyone. As war stretches across their world like a malignant tumor, they must be called on yet again to plunge into the fire, lest they and their entire world be swept away in the chaos.
1. Prologue: Deception

_All war is deception._

Sun Tzu, The Art of War

_Tap._

Picture a room. A dark room, light not by electric lights or the shining morning sun outside. A room wreathed in shadow, like a layered blanket stretching over all illumination, drowning out any glimmer of light. _That_ kind of dark.

_Tap._

In this darkness, this drapery of shadow, there happens to be a chair. A nice chair, soft leather, durable stuffing that provides that _just perfect_ amount of comfort, a high, cushioned back that subtly demands erect and proper posture, and a swivelly base that doesn't squeak. Plus those nice lockable wheels so you don't go spinning across the room. _That_ kind of chair.

_Tap._

Picture a man. A tall man, nearly perfectly between six and seven feet. Medium build, a tad on the bulked up side, like he lifts weights for a hobby, but isn't too serious about it. A man with black hair, short but not shaved, thick but not overwhelming. A man with piercing black eyes, as dark as the pitchest black of a cloudless city night, with the faintest twinkle of distant starlight somewhere in the depths of the empty blackness. A man with a strong jawline hidden behind a beard, short, but not closely shaved. One of those notorious blonde beards that inexplicably grows on a dark-haired man's face, much to his chagrin. Behind this beard is a mouth, filled with perfect white teeth, the kind of mouth that can switch from a charming, warm and inviting smile to a sinister smirk in a disturbingly short period of time.

_Tap._

Yes, that last _tap_ is well overdue. Now, picture this man, clad in a blue button up shirt, just dark enough to not be sky blue, but a shade above your normal blue. A fine, silken shirt, like the dark blue trousers he wears. On his feet, those expensive black boots that go with expensive suits, shiny and leather, yet possessing a slight appearance of wear and ruggedness, as if utilized more for planting in an individual's anal region than for social functions.

_Tap._

This man sits in the aforementioned chair in the aforementioned room. He sits in this chair in this room leaned back, with one dark blue pantsed-leg over the other, the strong and faintly hardened fingers of one hand wrapped around his chin in a classic contemplative pose. Over the chair is slung a long coat, though this coat seems more of a robe, constructed of midnight blue silken threads, with golden buttons and cloth fasteners, the kind elegant nobility wears.

_Tap._

This man sits in this chair in this room in this pose with his coat, smiling to himself, that thoughtful smile of one on deep yet enjoyable thought. For while the room is not light by natural or electrical lights, it is lit, by dancing images playing through he air before him, displays showing far away events that he is observing with close, focused attention.

_Tap._

There, a beach. On this beach, brightly lit by the rising sun, sits a couple on a wide towel, an umbrella raised above them. One, a small, smiling, brown-haired girl in a bright yellow bathing suit dotted with flowers, a pair of enormous sunglasses atop her head as she reads from a book. The other, a tall, lanky man in bright yellow swimming trunks, with long brown hair pooling out beneath him, a cowboy hat atop his face as he dozes. Nearby sits a double-barreled multipurpose rifle, in easy reach, just in case.

_Tap._

There, a classroom. In this room stands a woman in a black uniform, giving a lesson to a class of fifty wide-eyed children in their early teens, discussing the state of world political geography. A map is displayed on the giant screen behind her as she goes over her lesson. A woman with blonde hair framing her face, delicate sunglasses, and elegant beauty and poise.

_Tap._

There, a running track. A small blonde man with heavily built muscles and a frightening black tattoo over his face prepares to lead forty new recruits in a training run. He bounces up and down, shouting as loud as he can, energetic as ever as the recruits answer his shouts. As one, they all turn and start jogging, the small man leading them.

_Tap._

There, a library. A slender black-haired woman peruses a shelf, pulling a thick textbook out and looking through it. With a nod and a happy bounce in her step, she walks across the room, her blue coat waving in the air behind her, her hair bouncing with the life she exudes. She sits down, and starts reading the book with her deep brown eyes. A wave of a finger, and a page moves, without her ever touching it. A pleasant image, not displaying the true power she, a _Sorceress_ of all people, wielded.

_Tap._

There, a brightly lit room, filled with red wallpaper, golden lights and snake-like dragon statues. Behind a desk sits a man wearing a pair of sunglasses, with shaved blonde hair and a short goatee and mustache. A red coat covers his upper body, beneath which lies a black shirt with a silver cross emblem on it. On his desk sits an exotic saber-style gunblade, and he grins and chuckles as someone speaks. Between his eyes, a _diagonal scar._

_Tap._

There, Balamb Garden. And there, running along the exterior of the Garden, in his morning PT, is a man with long brown hair dropping past his mouth, a short brown beard and mustache touching his cheeks and jaw. At his waist, another gunblade, a heavy cleaving weapon, and around his neck the crafted image of a lion's head. Behind his hair, another long, diagonal scar between his eyes.

_Silence._

There is no tap, as this man focuses on this image of this other, scarred man. There is no smile, only a dark grimace as he focuses on that defining scar. His eyes narrow, and the darkest black orbs show a flicker of light, the flicker of _hatred_.

_Whoosh._

The man stands, drawing his coat with a flourish, and his smile returns as he dons the coat, fastening it swiftly and with practiced ease, the buttons slipping through the cloth fasteners with little effort. He calmly hefts the item making all the tapping, a long ebony cane, topped with an exquisite pearl handle and tipped in spotless silver. With his smile in place, the man nods to the image before him, and it vanishes.

_Tap._

And with that final tap, the man is gone, the chair is empty, and the room is dark.

---------------

Corporal Richard Snow doesn't like rain. Thankfully, his guardhouse is made to defend against rain, with its armored rooftop. The guardhouse is also meant to defend against anything short of a direct airstrike or guided missile, what with its reinforced concrete structure and buried metal and ceramic armor. Snow and the other two soldiers on guard duty could also dispense as much pain right back at the enemy, as the guard house featured a small armory and a mounted .50 caliber machinegun, plus a 120mm double-barreled rocket launcher with enough ammunition to bring down three platoons of armored vehicles.

Of course, they never had to _use_ these weapons, but they were there nonetheless. As with most military assignments, this one followed the typical pattern of months or years of mind-numbing boredom and procedure punctuated by several seconds of prolonged blood, violence, and terror. Right now, though, the blood, violence, and terror were well overdue.

Snow sat back in the chair behind the desk of the guard tower, and was quite bored. Guard duty, especially guard duty at night, had that tendency, and with it raining as it was, he had no reason to get up and leave the post, even with his olive-green waterproof poncho and hat. There was no action in this area, and there never was any action, even with the recent spat of violence that had popped up between the various western nations. This facility had never been attacked by any enemy or army, and Snow liked it that way, even if he was bored to tears because of it.

Up ahead and down the road, Snow saw lights appear through the pouring rain, and he perked up. He soon realizes that they were the headlights of an approaching vehicle. He signals Private First Class Downes to report the approaching vehicle in on the radio while he stands up, hefting his rifle, and steps out into the accursed rain. Water droplet patters off the top of his brimmed hat as he approaches the vehicle - actually, _vehicles_ - that are nearing the gate. From what he can tell, it looks like a humvee is leading the small convoy of three vehicles, followed by a pair of armored and covered twelve-ton trucks.

Corporal Snow approaches the driver's side door, one hand holding his rifle and the other a flashlight. The driver's window slides down, and he looks inside, to see the driver, an enlisted soldier, and the passengers, who appear to be two high-ranking officers. Snow stiffens slightly when he realizes _how_ high-ranking these two men are.

"Identification," he asks brusquely, and the driver hands the papers to him, laminated sheets dispersing the rain. Snow looks over the papers, and nods, not seeing anything wrong with them, before handing them back. He waves his troops out of the guardhouse, and they move around the armored trucks and humvees, one fetching a long rod with a mirror on the end.

"I apologize for the delays, sirs," Snow says to the two officers. "Security procedure. This will only take a moment."

"Understandable, Corporal," answers one of the officers, and Snow turns and watches his men as they move over the trucks. Private First Class Aikens uses the mirrored rod to look at the vehicles' undercarriages to make sure nothing suspicious is down there, while Downes checks the tires and exteriors of the vehicles. They round the back of the trucks, and spot several soldiers sitting in the back of both vehicles.

"Evenin'" remarks one of the men, and Downes chuckles.

"You lucky bastards get to stay out of the rain, huh?" he inquires, and one of the men shrugs.

"Murder on our asses, though," the first man replies. "These metal seats suck."

"Military budget," remarks another. "The flyboys get hot tubs and the grunts don't get shit."

"Could be worse," Downes answers. "You guys could be out on the front lines."

"Almost wish I was," and other soldier remarks as Downes passes the truck. Moments later, the inspection is complete, and the gate guards return to their safe guardhouse as Corporal Snow waves the convoy through the gate.

---------------

Ah, Garden. Balamb Garden to be precise, moored off the coast of its home town, taking on supplies and giving its crew and troops a well-deserved shore leave. The towering monolith of the Garden rises above the quaint little blue-painted town that it was named for, seeming quiet and benign, like a benevolent giant.

The man in the blue coat and with the oddly-colored beard calmly walks up the ramp leading up to the entrance of the vast structure. He inhales, taking in the scents and tastes of Balamb harbor's ocean salts and sprays, and smiles. Today, he knows, couldn't be better. Strolling up the ramp, he twirls his expensive cane nonchalantly, smiling as he approaches the front gate.

"Good morning," he calls, for it is indeed morning. Very early in the morning, in fact. He can hear the chants of Garden recruits on their morning runs, calling cadence as they hurried through the Garden like so many ants, rushing about in their purposeless lives. The thought amuses him as he addresses the SeeD on guard duty.

"Good morning, sir," calls the SeeD, though she is by no means referring to him as a superior. Rather, she is calling him as such through proper, polite greeting. He smiles, knowing that Garden has reasonably tight security. After all, one never knew when someone like himself would be showing up.

"Do you have business within the Garden?" she asks, and his smile widens. She's small, petite, with short black hair, and clad in the new working uniforms that SeeDs were assigned: a black coat going to the waist, with black trousers and black combat boots, with her weapon - a sword-rapier - sheathed at her hip. Rank insignia and Garden and unit patches along the shoulders and upper arms, respectively. Much more utilitarian than the old uniform. After all, Murphy's Laws say the truth: the side with the simplest uniforms wins. Clearly their Commander was learned. A pity for Garden, then.

"Personal business," he explains, in a cultured, proper tone, reminiscent of the accent of the peoples of Dollet. As he maintains his smile, he sets his cane down with his left hand, and this simple motion draws the SeeD's attention as he gestures with his right. It's a simple motion, nothing overt, but he doesn't want to give it away, all the same.

"Business with your Commander," he adds, and the woman nods, her brow furrowing in concentration.

"Of course," she replies, not challenging this man she doesn't know or has ever seen in her lifetime. "Identification?"

"You don't need to see any," he replies, still smiling. And yes, he makes the gesture once more.

"Of course I don't," she replies, still smiling. "And your name?"

"Sion," he answers with a nod.

"Very well then, Sion, I will inform the Commander that you wish to meet with him. He should be in the Operations Room on the third floor."

"Thank you," Sion replies, and with smile never fading, he strolls through the opening gates and into Balamb Garden.

---------------

The base itself is discreet, though not necessarily compact. Most of the structures are darkly-painted and well-camouflaged concrete bunkers, as the base is built more for secrecy than anything else. The convoy rolls through the base, unchallenged, and passes another checkpoint before stopping outside one particular bunker. The two officers and the driver in the humvee get out and approach the two soldiers standing guard over the main entrance into the bunker.

"Good evening, Corporal," remarks the commanding officer, as he hands the man his papers. The Corporal glances down at them, stiffens, and nods as he realizes who he's dealing with.

"Good evening, sir," replies the younger, enlisted soldier, and he nods to his comrade, who goes to open the armored double door leading into the bunker. The heavy doors, each weighing over a ton and made of solid, reinforced reactive steel plating, begin to slide apart with a whirr and rumble of hydraulics.

There are a half-dozen more men on duty, within, two standing on a loading dock while the others are seated around a table near another huge, heavyset of double doors. Behind them, on the doors, are black and yellow signs with huge, clearly visible "Biohazard" signs painted on them. The two officers start walking into the room, and the Corporals outside start moving back to guard positions when they find ten thousand volts of electricity shooting through their bodies, an instant before they collapse to the rain-soaked pavement, thoroughly unconscious.

The soldiers inside did not see this, but they _do_ see the soldiers in the two twelve-ton trucks stride into the bunker behind the two officers. They're momentarily concerned, but that concern rapidly shifted as the room is filled with silenced _pfft-pfft-pffts._ The soldiers, as a whole, stare in shock or clutch at their chests as darts bury into their bodies and pump numbing chemicals into their blood. Within moments, all six men are on the floor, either unconscious or blacking out.

The soldiers accompanying the officers move into the room, two of them backing their trucks into the bunker, while the others secure and check the squad on guard duty. Once they're assured that the guards are unconscious but alive, they move to the heavy door at the far end of the bunker.

The two officers stride past their soldiers, and stand in front of the door. They stare at the biohazard sign, and the junior officer glances to his superior.

"Sir, if we open this door, there's no going back," he warns. The other officer shakes his head adamantly.

"For the good of our country, and our soldiers, we have no other choice," he replies, and then nods. "Open the door, Colonel. And may Hyne forgive us for what we have to do today."

---------------

The Operations Room is an amazing thing. Too bad the reader has to wait until next chapter to have it described to them, though if they've read other stories by this author, they'd have a good idea what it looks like.

. . . . strange. Anyone else hear the sound of a wall breaking somewhere?

He has been waiting a few minutes, this man named Sion, but as he stands there, non-threateningly and not causing any trouble or looking at what doesn't concern him, the doors open. He looks up, and sees none other than the Commander of Balamb Garden himself enter the room, brown hair hanging past his chin and a short, well-groomed beard running along his cheeks and jawline. He certainly looks far older and more mature than the incarnation Sion was aware of.

The Commander appears to have been informed of this meeting as he arrived, for he starts directly toward Sion, though confusion etches across his features. After all, he's never met with this strange, well-dressed man before.

"Good morning, Commander," the well-dressed man says, with a smile and nod. He extends his hand, and the Commander, Squall Leonhart, accepts it, a testament to how much he'd matured. They shake hands, and the SeeD notes the man's strong grip with a raised eyebrow.

"Is there something you need?" Squall asks, and Sion nods, smiling politely.

"Why yes, Commander, there is."

_Pop._

There is a faint explosion of displaced air, and in the air around the well-dressed man five objects burst into existence: long, slender swords with extended, leaf-shaped blades of pure gleaming black metal. Shimmering silver runes of an unknown variety encrust the blades' lengths, and thin chains of purple and green sigils danc around the handles of the blades as they whirl and oriented themselves directly at Squall, razor-sharp tips leveling at his chest.

"I need you to _die_."

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_Full Spectrum SeeD _is a little something I've been cooking up, well before I finished _Legacy of the Chimera_. In many ways, its almost like a repository for ideas that I've developed for _Chimera _but were never used, twisted and hammered into something resembling a cohesive story.

The title comes from a particular brand of action-strategy game that offers remarkable insights into how combat really works in the real world. This story, similarly, is intended to be a realistic and in many ways rough and gritty portrayal of what I consider to be one of the founding and basic elements of Final Fantasy VIII: the soldier. That is what _Full Spectrum SeeD_ is intended to be, a story about soldiers, both ordinary and elite, commando and conscript.

_Full Spectrum SeeD _is also intended to convey a stronger sense of realism and military tactics than some of my other works. Both Gunblade and Chimera worked hard to portray combat, but in many ways it was unrealistic compared with real world battles, such as the Estharian infantry charge or the open field battles. Thus, expect this story to be grittier and more realistic in its combat.

However, just because _Full Spectrum SeeD _will be focused on the soldiers doesn't mean that it will be abandoning fantasy and dramatic elements. Far from it. As this prologue has clearly shown, it will hit the full gamut of action and fantasy, and expect it to get _epic_. There'll be blood, violence, romance, intrigue, drama, and more intermixed with the tales of our brave soldiers and mercenaries.

Expect me to both notch the pretentiousness in this story up a few degrees than normal _and_ to break the fourth wall enough times to make Kojima cry. Sorta my way of maintaining balance in the cosmic order of things. Chapters will generally be prefaced by quotes or commentary from both real and fictional sources, and many of them may be from the characters in this story. Of course, some will be from real sources, like the legendary Sun Tzu quote you see up above, which was selected precisely because it defines Full Spectrum SeeD. I'm also going to _try_ to keep a consistent theme with my chapter titles, a theme which will likely become apparent as the story progresses.

As an aside, this story ties in with the plotline for my other fic, _Ronin_. They take place in the same continuity, and follow the events of _The Gunblade Saga_, and as such, expect the events of that story to have effects in this one. However, this story does _not_ take place in the same continuity as the _Chimera_ storyline did. Like_ Ronin_, this is completely separate from _Chimera_.

Well then.

Until first chapter . . . .


	2. Chapter I: Red Alert

_Soundtrack Recommendation:_ For the various scenes taking place in Garden, the "Balamb Garden" theme is what I'd recommend while reading. For the scenes in Dollet, "Timebomb" off the Command and Conquer: Tiberian Sun soundtrack is recommended. When the battle with Sion begins, "Welcome to the Darkness (Iku City)" off the Chaos Legion soundtrack is recommended. Once the battle escalates, I'd recommend a looped "General Diaz" off the Time Crisis II soundtrack.

_

* * *

_

_The First Myth of Combat: it is reliant on skill, weapons, or armor. This is patently not true. These elements _help_ in combat, but being skilled with a blade or wearing powered armor will not save you if your enemy uses the most basic element of all combat: his mind. _

_All combat is a mental exercise. Your first objective is to outthink your enemy. Fail to outthink him, and you will lose. You lose and you die. Because of its very nature, personal combat is a battle of minds and wills: specifically, your will against your enemy's. _

_Your enemy is a soldier, just like you. He thinks like you. He has goals. First, he wants to live. Second, he wants to kill you. These two typically go hand in hand. Third, he has an objective. He is not a mindless automaton who exists only to stand in your way. He thinks, he adapts, he fights, and he wants to survive. It is your objective to think faster, adapt quicker, fight harder, and to survive longer than him. Fail to do this, and you will die._

_Therefore, the first principle of all combat: Strength matters less than will and wits. The greatest warrior wins the battle before it even begins._

Squall Leonhart, SeeD Battle Manual: Second Edition, Chapter One: "Myths of Warfare"

* * *

_**Chapter One: Red Alert**_

* * *

"Hoooo momma, can't you see!" 

"_Hoooo momma can't you see!"_

The thunderous cacophony of boots slamming pavement filled the air as the column of black-shirted recruits charged past, arms pumping and feet slamming pavement in measured time, every man and woman's motions in perfect sync.

"What Gard-en has done for me!"

"_What Gard-en has done for me!"_

Their voices rang in time as they called cadence, thirty-six third-week recruits running in three lines, shoulder to shoulder. As they jogged, their cadence was led by the blonde, tattooed man running directly to their right, his boisterous voice resounding over their echoing footfalls.

"Put me in a classroom chair!"

"_Put me in a classroom chair!"_

Zell Dincht, unarmed combat instructor for Balamb Garden, called out cadence for this morning's physical training regimen. He let out a series of motivating shouts to help his training platoon move through the daily three-mile run they were enduring during their fourteen-week training course.

"These GFs screw-ed up my hair!"

"_These GFs screw-ed up my hair!"_

Zell Dincht's cries were motivating; that didn't mean they necessarily had to make _sense_.

As the group did its fourth circuit through Balamb Garden's halls and exterior park complexes, they were watched over by a group of SeeD Sergeants and a small medical staff, along with the watchful blue eyes of Garden's ranking officer.

Squall Leonhart observed Zell and his training squadron on their morning run, their shouts acting as a general alarm clock for the rest of the Garden. The troops ran hard and fast, sweat glistening on their faces as they ran around the massive ship, calling cadence endlessly. He himself ran in the opposite direction, also partaking in his morning calisthenics. After all, he was the Commander of Garden; the example all SeeDs had to follow. If he wasn't the best at what he did, then it would send the worst signals to his men, especially now that they were running a full-on boot camp program.

Such a thing hadn't been fathomable in Balamb Garden up until about a year and a half ago, when Squall had first executed the Accelerated SeeD Training Program. There had always been one inherent problem with Garden, and that was that it didn't have _numbers. _Influence, of course. Individual power, most certainly. International military connections, without question. Superb leadership and the sharpest minds in the world, undeniable. But they lacked numerical power, and if there was one thing that Squall had learned in fighting Ultimecia, Garden needed not just _superior_ soldiers, but _more_ of them. A three-man SeeD squad was dangerous and effective, but could only do so much, and Garden could only cover so much with only a few thousand troops.

As he continued on his morning jog, the SeeD Commander observed the training platoon round the next building, Zell still yelling at the top of his lungs and they responding as loudly as they could, screaming at the top of their lungs between quick breaths. They passed Squall, with Zell saluting him with a jaunty wave for the rest of the platoon, and the group thundered past.

Additionally, Squall had noted that the Garden's current recruitment policy, revolving around young adults and children, was effective at raising the younger cadets within the Garden culture, but was very restrictive and incapable of receiving adults, or even late teenagers. That was natural; the Gardens possessed such a laid-back and academic atmosphere that they could only properly train soldiers if they were brought in during their younger years. But, upon observing the notoriety that Garden was receiving, and how many teenagers and young adults were also drawing an interest in Garden, Squall had considered adding a more aggressive training regimen to accommodate the older recruits.

Squall ended his jog a few minutes later, and could still hear the cadence being called elsewhere. That was fine; he'd started his morning PT an hour before them and had covered six miles without slowing in the slightest - _without_ Guardian Forces. Finishing up his run, he took a short sip from his water bottle and grabbed a towel from one of the outdoor training stations scattered along the Quad, and wiped the sweat dripping from his brow. This was also new; Garden had been surprisingly lax on its PT requirements, relying too much on GFs and not enough on personal strength. Squall had rectified that error.

Squall had visited both Dollet and Galbadia's military training academies, observing firsthand the indoctrination methods of their boot camps. Taking notes, he had then returned to Garden, corrected the limitations in these training techniques, and instigated the Accelerated SeeD Training Program: a method of hammering recruits too old to be indoctrinated in traditional Garden methods, allowing for anyone into their late twenties to enter Garden and become a SeeD. Over fifteen weeks, the recruits went through a brutal regimen that taught them all the basics of being a SeeD. The process had already seen success, and nine months ago Squall had watched the first platoons of SeeDs in their late teens and twenties carry out wargames with younger SeeDs, with almost no difference in performance. It was, as Zell had called it, "freakin' beautiful."

Idly, Squall wondered if such a program could have helped Seifer, back when he was still with Garden. He paused as he thought of his old rival, who was now running with Estharian gangs in the shadows of Galbadia's criminal world. He wanted to be disappointed, but he couldn't help but respect Seifer's will to survive in such a harsh and unforgiving place.

Taking another sip from his bottle, Squall finished wiping down and headed back inside the academy, toward the dorms, preparing for another long day of command, training, and headaches. Being the Commander of Garden had its privileges, but it also had plenty of responsibility, not the least among them that nearly six thousand cadets, recruits, and SeeDs were under his personal care.

* * *

_Beepbeepbeep._

Sergeant Carol Rawley, seated comfortably behind her terminal, sighed in vexation as yet another call came through to her. As one of the administration clerks of the Dollet Warfare Command Tower's Bastion Red, she was tasked with being the one who directed all lines of communication through this section of the military's command structure. Being in such a position in Bastion Red was something of a privilege, as it was the control center in the entire Dollet command network, a place where Dukes and Generals and Admirals laid out their plans. However, Bastion Red was also a headache, especially lately, with Dollet's recent incursions into formerly held Galbadian territory around Yaluny Canyon and into sections of Timber. Coordinating such an aggressive move, directing literally a hundred thousand and more men at a time, was quite the task to fill, and Rawley had been pulling plenty of all-nighters during the quick but aggressive invasion of enemy territory.

Now, the Sergeant was taking another high-level communication, being sent up the chain of command, and would need to relay it to the proper officers. She tapped a few buttons on her keyboard, and selected the line in question. Her eyes widened as she saw the information in regards to this line; it was highly encrypted and flagged as Extremely Urgent.

"Sergeant Rawley," she said into the headset she wore.

"_Sergeant," _came a voice over the line, and she frowned, noting the harsh static distortion of the speaker. Her left hand tapped a couple of keys, instantly recording this transmission and flagging the speaker for a trace.

"_As you can clearly tell, we are using a secured transmission," _the speaker explained. _"We do not want any eavesdroppers. This is a very important message for your superiors, and we do not want them to mistake the gravity of this message."_

"Identify yourself," Rawley demanded, and the voice spoke, not betraying any emotion. Rawley could pick out a clipped tone, despite the distortion, and realized she was speaking to a soldier of some kind.

"_I cannot do that at this point, Sergeant," _the speaker replied. _"On top of the First Mark Dollet Hotel in the capital, there is a large box. Within this box is one of nine out of sixteen classified tactical warheads that were seized from the Soren Munitions Research Base last night. Inform your superiors that this warhead is armed, and that if it detonates, it will destroy half the city and irradiate the rest with lethal gamma radiation. The warhead is set to explode in forty-five minutes, starting _now."

The line went dead, and Sergeant Rawley hesitated only a second before immediately forwarding the information to her superiors, her fingers moving in numbed horror.

* * *

There was the sun, shining down from above and touching his bare chest with pleasant warmth, and it was good. There was the ocean, quietly roaring not fifty feet away as it swept along the golden sands, and that too was good. There was the sand itself, which was not so good, except that it was held at bay by a large beach towel, which was very good. 

But for Irvine Kinneas, SeeD sharpshooter and firearms specialist, the best part about this morning was that beside him, in a yellow bathing suit and with huge sunglasses atop her head, was the diminutive form of Selphie Tilmitt, her head propped up on a pillow, which itself was propped up on a cooler, and reading from a book. Her presence, he had long since decided, was _tremendously_ good.

"Whatcha reading?" he asked as he looked over at her, and she looked up at him, and smiled.

"_Dumble's Theorems on Arcane Magic,_" she replied, and Irvine blinked. He rolled over a little, and took a look at the book. He blanched as incomprehensible gibberish stretched across the pages, in what looked like some twisted and complex form of calculus.

"Trabia Garden magic?" he commented after a moment, and Selphie nodded.

"Basic magic at Trabia is all about energy manipulation, making a spell work in ways it doesn't normally," she explained, still grinning. "But this is all about manipulating energy directly, casting spells without stocking them."

"Um," Irvine replied, already lost. He wasn't a spellcaster, and Galbadia Garden had taught him about guns, not magic and Guardian Forces. And even more confusing was how Selphie was even able to _read_ that gobbledeygook. He didn't think she had the attention span to read a normal book, let alone an equation-heavy textbook on magic.

"Don't worry," she added with a smile. "There's no pop quiz, okay?"

"I wasn't worried about that," Irvine replied with a grin, and reached into the coat that was draped over his shoulders. He pulled out a heavy revolver, a brand-new Mateba .45, and twirled it on his index finger. "I just prefer something a bit more reliable than magic."

"And I like things that explode," Selphie replied, and pointed a hand toward the blue ocean. A surge of energy shot through her hand as she gestured, and then a single shining bolt of white-hot light flew out. It struck the water's surface, and with a sudden, cracking eruption of flash-steamed water, a plume of steam shot up into the air.

"Shiny," Irvine remarked duly impressed, and he chuckled as he pulled a shell out of his coat and looped a foot underneath his rifle. He launched the weapon into the air and caught it with his other hand, and broke it open. "My turn."

Irvine loaded the incendiary shell and leveled it at the ocean, and let fly. A louder explosion and a second, larger plume of steam erupted from the water, and Selphie pouted.

"I'll show you!" she said, standing up - and incidentally, giving Irvine a nice view of her rear, and started channeling more energy onto her hands. Irvine burst into laughter as he drew a second, high-powered explosive incendiary round, and started loading his rifle.

As Selphie's spell descended into the ocean like a white-hot javelin, there was a sudden, harsh beeping form inside his coat. Irvine dropped his shell and cursed, and reached for his pager. He took it out, wondering who would call him while he was on R&R, and then froze as he saw what was on the LCD screen.

"Hyne," he hissed, and Selphie turned toward him as he snatched up the dropped shell, the diminutive SeeD understanding the sudden change in his tone. "Selphie, grab your gear, we have to get back to Garden _now!"_

"What's happening?" she asked as she grabbed her clothes and books, stuffing them into a backpack.

"Red Alert, Selphie!" Irvine shouted as he grabbed his rifle. "Garden is under attack!"

* * *

The sun was rising over the Dollet Dukedom, and its capital city of Dollet. The city itself was just beginning to stir, hundreds of thousands of civilians preparing to go to work or take their children to school. It was this bustling metropolis that two UH-89 Albatross transport helicopters, painted in the dark olive drab of the Dukedom's military, flew over, closing with the First Mark Dollet Hotel on the heart of the city. The two heavy choppers, built to ferry squads of infantry into combat and provide close air support, were bristling with guided rockets and a pair of 7.62mm ten-barreled chainguns, one pointed out either side. 

The pair of Albatross helicopters swooped over the First Mark Hotel, one on either end of the building, their rotors _thwap-thwapping_ in the quiet morning air. Bystanders below looked up in surprise and awe, pointing at the heavy helicopters as drop lines fell from their sides, to the rooftop below, and soldiers began to rappel down the ropes.

The first two men to hit the ground were First Lieutenant Edward Wagner, and Specialist David Blain. The two soldiers rushed across the rooftop as dozens more men hit the building behind them, fanning out and securing the top of the building. The officer and the specialist, with two more demolitions specialists and a half-dozen riflemen following, approached a large metal box in the center of the roof. A quick check by Specialist Blain showed that the box's hinged sides were not booby-trapped, and the soldiers quickly removed the outer casing.

"Hyne in heaven," muttered one of the demolitions troopers, as they saw the device inside. It was eight feet long and conical in shape, with yellow and black biohazard and radiation signs along its length.

"Is this what I think it is?" asked Wagner in awe, and Blain nodded. He and his partners had been training in the handling and use of these weapons for years now, and they were the best in their small, secretive field at it. He knew to appreciate what he was looking at, and Wagner, while only a lieutenant with basic classified clearance, had heard the rumors as to the power of this weapon.

"We've got seven minutes, people," Blain called, as his men pulled out their demolitions kits. "Let's crack this casing and disarm it. Sir, I need you to stand back." Lieutenant Wagner nodded as he moved backwards, and Specialist Blain and his men started to open the warhead's outer casing.

* * *

" . . . which is why the Galbadian troops in Lollapalooza Canyon are currently being mobilized to Timber," Quistis Trepe continued, gesturing toward the classroom screen, where a series of blue squares and arrows indicated Galbadian military forces moving into Timber through the northwest mountain ranges. She looked over the class of younger cadets, all in their early teens, who were watching with fascination as she continued to explain the events taking place in Timber. 

"Scattered Timber Liberation Army units engaged Galbadian forces at three points along the approach," Quistis continued, and a series of red squares were pushed aside or subsumed by advancing blue arrows, the remainder retreating toward the forests spanning the country's territory. "They were routed and driven back by Galbadian forces, which had superior weapons and manpower."

A hand rose up from one of the cadets, a boy name Kent. Quistis nodded to him, and he stood up.

"Instructor," he asked. "Where did the TLA get their weapons from? I thought the Timber resistance movements were low-key?"

"They've always tried to remain out of sight, yes," Quistis continued, and moved to her terminal. She brought up a picture of a farmer's transport truck, but with a heavy TOW missile launcher bolted to the bed and filled with rag-tag militia. "But Timber is a very large territory, and most of the TLA's weapons and equipment are either disassembled or easy to hide. Take this technical; in less than half an hour this thing can be cobbled together, and used to kill Galbadian tanks and carry troops." She closed the picture, and stepped around the desk.

"Keep in mind that the Timber Liberation Army is not new, either," she continued. "They've been active since Galbadia first invaded nearly twenty years ago, and they have been the most active and violent of the Timber resistance movements. We actually anticipated that they would get bolder and more aggressive once President Caraway started making moves to liberate Timber and establish a real government."

"If the President wants to free the country," asked another cadet, a girl in the back. "Then why can't he just pull out?"

"It takes time to establish a government," Quistis explained. "Particularly one that is friendly to your nation and strong enough to stand on its own. Caraway doesn't want Timber to be a puppet state and he doesn't want warlords like General Deansworth and his extremist TLA soldiers running the country." She nodded toward the screen. "And that's why Galbadian troops are trying to restore order across Timber right now."

"What about the people of Timber?" asked Kent. "From what we've learned in Instructor Domer's class on guerilla warfare, you need a supportive populace to fight on a large scale like this."

"Yes, that's true," Quistis said, nodding. "Many of the smaller resistance cells within Timber have lost clout because they were laying low and not actively fighting the occupation. The TLA has been recruiting and absorbing resistance cells over the last few years, and they've grown to be the largest cell in the country, with thousands of troops. That's why Caraway is considering them to be a serious threat to peace and stability in a new Timber."

"Instructor," another boy asked. "What about Dollet? I know they're attacking too . . . ."

"Dollet is taking advantage of both Caraway's attempts to consolidate his military and the troubles in Timber," Quistis replied. "The Dukedom is serious about reclaiming lost territory; that's why they've got troops occupying Yaluny Canyon and moving into the Monteresau Plateau."

Quistis glanced at her watch, and sighed, before nodding to the class.

"I'm sorry, cadets, that's the end of today's lecture. Next period begins in twenty minutes. Be sure to drop off your magic development history reports on Wednesday." Quistis watched the children stand up and begin to gather their books and packs, and moved around behind her desk. She took off her wire-frame glasses and began to clean them.

She was glad to be back teaching cadets for once. The last couple of semesters had been busy, what with Squall instituting the new training programs and the prolonged monster control contracts in Esthar, not to mention a dozen brushfire wars a month from the chaos in Galbadia. Every little province and principality was bucking Galbadian authority, and now a major insurrection was taking place in Timber and Dollet was launching an open assault and occupation of Galbadian lands - though in that case, the territory was not heavily defended, and Galbadia had yet to react with a full military response. It was ironic that, less than three years ago, Dollet soldiers had invaded the Lunatic Pandora under the cover of Galbadian fighter planes, and now they were shooting at each other _again_. And to top it off, everyone wanted SeeD training their troops, especially after the Sorceress War.

_There was even that contract with Seifer two weeks ago . . . ._

SeeD had made a killing over the last two and a half years, though it had been a taxing time on Garden's resources. People had been constantly moving around, training, fighting, escorting, and advising. It was good to be back in a stable position with a stable job for once.

Quistis sat back, continuing to think to herself, and was nearly thrown out of her chair when the roaring alarm klaxons of a Red Alert erupted around her.

* * *

She reached up, standing on the tips of her toes, and grabbed the edge of the book at the top of the shelf with her slender fingers. Her index finger hooked in the binding, and she was able to leverage enough force to slightly dislodge the book, before dropping back down to her heels. Rinoa Heartilly frowned, and knew that if she'd been junctioned, she wouldn't be having any trouble mustering the strength to get this annoyingly resilient book free. She reached up once more, her fingers hooking it again, and finally pulled it loose. It toppled out of its spot on the shelf, and toward her head. Reflexively, the young Sorceress raised her hands to deflect to descending tome, when a hand deftly reached past her and stopped the book's plummet. 

Rinoa blinked, looked up, and turned around at the one who had saved her from a mildly painful impact. Squall calmly flipped the book over, grasping it by the edge, and handed it to her.

"Why are you always rescuing me?" she remarked with a wry grin, and he chuckled quietly as he draped a hand over her shoulders. They started walking across the Garden's library, toward a small reading table nestled in a corner, away from everyone else.

"how far did you run today?" she asked as they neared the table. Squall grunted.

"The usual. Six miles; I need to show everyone why I'm the Commander, after all." Rinoa nodded a she spoke.

"You have no idea how much they love you, Squall," she remarked, and he nodded. "Half of Garden would die for you, you know that?" He exhaled, not happy with the thought of people being quite so devoted to him, even if it was true; many of the SeeDs had fought with Squall over the last few years, and all of them held a deep-rooted respect for their Commander.

"What about that job that Cid offered you?" he asked, changing the subject. "Garden Counselor?"

They settled down into the chairs on opposite sides of the small table, Rinoa flicking back her black hair, which was starting to grow past her shoulder blades.

"I'm considering it," she replied, shrugging. "I'm not too sure if I'm cut out for the job, though. It's a big responsibility." Squall reached across the small table, and took her hand between his.

"Rinoa, _no one_ is more qualified for this job than you," he said, in all seriousness. She cocked her head to the side slightly as he made one of those odd near-smiles that he reserved for only her.

"Really?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I should know. You were able to read me like a book," he replied, shaking his head. "And if you can figure out how _I _tick, then you can fix anyone's problems." She smiled at the complement, and nodded, looking down at his fingers.

"I guess you're right," she murmured. "Still, it's a lot of responsibility for me to take care of hundreds of cadets . . . ."

"You can handle it," he replied firmly. "I know you can. After fixing me, there's nothing you can't do." She chuckled, and raised his fingers up, kissing them gently.

"thanks," she said, and he started to nod, when a beeping sound emerged from his jacket. Frowning, Squall untangled his fingers from Rinoa's and took out his cell phone, sighing in vexation. He never got a moment with the two of them, it seemed, without some problem in the Ops Room rearing its head.

"Leonhart," he muttered, and then sighed, before nodding. "I'll be up." He closed the cell phone, and shook his head. "VIP visitors. I hate doing PR work."

"You should let id handle it," Rinoa suggested, to which Squall shook his head again.

"Specifically asked for me," he replied. "I need to get up there anyway, got some contracts to look over. Cid and the Council want to make a decision on the Timber and Yaluny Canyon issues too."

"How long will you be today?" Squall shrugged, and stood up.

"I'm going to keep this one short," he explained. "I need a day off." He stepped around the table, and kissed her on the cheek. "A day off with _you_ for once."

"If Cid can't help you with that, he's not getting me as Counselor," She replied with a smile, and he managed a quiet laugh at that.

"I'll see you in a bit," Squall promised, and turned to walk out of the library. She nodded once again, watching him leave, and opened the book she had struggled so hard to capture, and began reading.

No more than ten minutes later, Rinoa's ear drums popped as a Red Alert alarm burst from the wall-mounted klaxons.

* * *

They had three minutes before the warhead blew. 

"You got the casing off yet?" asked Blain as he started working his fingers through the mass of wires in front of him.

"Working on it," replied the demolitions tech on the other side of the warhead. "These bastards booby-trapped the damn thing."

"They've rewired this fucker over here too," grunted Blain, keeping his voice as calm as possible. "I don't know where they got someone with the brains to do this." he started checking the leads for the wires, cursing as he did so. They had replaced all the wiring on this side, changing the colors and reversing the leads, making the demo crew's job ten times harder.

Blain tried to calm his nerves, knowing that a bomb disposal technician needed to be made of frozen iron in this kind of situation. He continued sorting wires, and checked his clock.

Less than two minutes remained.

"Hurry up with that fucking casing!" Blain hissed as he worked furiously. "I don't know if I can sort these wires fats enough!"

"Trying, damn it!" muttered the man on the other side. "Hold on a second . . . There! Trap's disarmed."

"Disable it, now!" Blain ordered. "hell, rip the fucking core out if you have to!"

"Wait," Wagner whispered from behind them. "If you guys remove the core-"

"We'll be lethally irradiated, I friggin' know," Blain hissed as he pulled a circuit board out. He flipped it over and reinserted it, and then tore a wad of false wiring out. He plunged both hands into the heart of the machine as the clock counted down to thirty seconds.

"I can't get the core out!" snarled the man on the other side.

Twenty-five seconds.

"Stand by, I've got this crap sorted out, I think," Blain whispered, fingers dancing over the wires. He reached back and grabbed a wire cutter.

Twenty seconds.

Blain thrust his wire cutter into the heart of the warhead and snipped a single wire.

The clock's timer still showed fifteen seconds, and then fourteen, and then thirteen.

"Hyne! No!" Blain shouted. "Tear the _fucking core out dammit!"_

Ten seconds.

"Son of a bitch!" shouted the other soldier as he smashed one of his tools against the warhead's core, trying to hammer it loose.

Five seconds.

"Hyne have mercy," Wagner whispered as Blain struggled with the warhead, cutting wires frantically, cursing the damned machine over and over again.

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

Blain cursed the loudest he'd ever in his life, and Wagner covered his eyes as a flash of massive light erupted from the warhead.

* * *

"Good morning, sir," came the usual greeting from the SeeD guard outside Garden's control center as Squall stepped off the elevator. Squall grunted and nodded, his usual reply to the guard, or really anyone else who called him "sir." The guard, a young, newly ordained SeeD, moved to open the doors, but the Garden Commander waved his hand, stopping the guard in place. He opened the door himself and stepped inside the command center. 

It had once been the Headmaster's office, but events during the Sorceress War had necessitated a change and some renovations. The center of the room featured a tall column that rose up to the top of the chamber, upon which was the command and control systems that piloted Garden. It had once been gunmetal gray, but the Headmaster had ordered it painted a creamy white color and adorned with the light, threading designs and sigils inimical to Garden. All around that central column, the display cases that Cid had adorned his office with were replaced by rings of desks and computer monitors, and two dozen SeeDs were busily working at these stations, operating the machine that was Balamb Garden. The left wall featured a large television screen that showed a map of Fisherman's Horizon, with important items of note marked, as well as a dozen smaller images neatly arrayed to the side, which showed information on other areas of the world. The right side of Cid's former office had been modified, the lower half of the wall having been removed and the nearby offices on that side converted into a large conference and briefing area, accessible from the control center. Above this, accessible through a spiraling staircase rising between them, was a pair of offices with shutters that could be opened to reveal the command center or closed for privacy.

The office on the right belonged to Squall. He had, naturally, refused to be given such an important place, preferring to have an office on the ground, but the Headmaster had insisted he use it, due to his importance in the Garden command structure. Squall had finally accepted a few weeks after the renovations were completed, and moved in there.

As soon as he stepped into Balamb Garden's nerve center, which resounded with the sounds of tapping keyboards, muted conversations, and phone calls, he spotted the man standing in the middle of the room, the blue-robed figure he had been told wished to meet with him. The man, whom Squall had been told was named Sion, smiled as the SeeD Commander approached.

"Good morning, Commander," the well-dressed man said, with a smile and nod. He extended his hand, and Squall, accepted it, another testament to how much he'd matured. They shook hands, and the SeeD noted the man's strong grip.

"Is there something you need?" Squall asked, and Sion nodded, smiling politely.

"Why yes, Commander, there is."

_Pop._

There was a faint explosion of displaced air, and in the air around the well-dressed man five objects burst into existence: long, slender swords with extended, leaf-shaped blades of pure gleaming black metal. Shimmering silver runes of an unknown variety encrusted the blades' lengths, and thin chains of purple and green sigils danced around the handles of the blades as they whirled and oriented themselves directly at Squall, razor-sharp tips leveled at his chest.

"I need you to _die_."

Lionheart burst from its sheath as all five swords dove at the SeeD Commander. Blue-white energy met black arcane metal in a flash of parries and deflections. Squall's legs twitched, and he hurled himself backward as two blades cleaved through the air where he had been standing, another rang off his blade, and the others dove after him. He hit the floor on his back and rolled aside in an instant, the two remaining blades stabbing into the marble floor beneath his feet and gouging deep holes in the stone tiles.

Squall's left palm slapped the floor and shoved himself up into a standing position as Lionheart dove and spun, blocking two more slashes, and he twisted aside as a thrust cut past his chest. The gunblade flew up vertically, blocking a horizontal cut at his throat, and he leaned backward, another blade nearly slicing through his face. As Lionheart dove into the path of another strike from the enchanted blades, Squall's left hand shot up, and he spent a half-second of mental concentration, sending energy shooting through his fingers and out at Sion in a cascade of potent lightning. The bolt roared across the room, directly at the strange, bearded man, into his torso-

And dissipated as it struck some unseen barrier, bolts of static lightning flashing in all directions as he watched the SeeD Commander struggle, smiling the whole while.

Lionheart smashed into another striking, dancing blade, and then the entire room exploded.

The Operations Room was home to over two dozen SeeDs, end even though most of them were technicians, all of them were well-trained in combat and had a plethora of magic stocked and sidearms on hand. All of these were drawn and leveled the instant the first blades had met, and a second later, as Squall's lightning blast had confirmed the threat's origin, all of them had been discharged at Sion where he stood.

Searing flames stormed in, blasts of lightning that would have destroyed war machines crackled upon him, and flurries of stabbing and exploding icicles thrust toward the stranger as a dozen handguns and rifles were unloaded, the thundering reports of metal slugs blasting and slamming into their target matching the swirl and collision of magic. It was a raging cataclysm of magic and metal converging on a single point, a point where no man, SeeD or otherwise, could have survived.

The flames dissipated, the static shock of electricity scattered, and the shards of remaining ice rained on the floor, following dozens of flattened rifle and handgun slugs that trickled to the ground, ringing as they bounced off the blasted and half-molten marble floor.

And Sion stood, still smiling, completely untouched by the fury of the SeeDs surrounding him.

Squall's gunblade flew and danced before him, even as he registered the impossibility of his strange enemy's survival. Sion watched patiently as the SeeDs stared in shock, amazed that hew as so completely untouched by their maelstrom of violence, before shaking off their surprise and renewing their assault. Fresh magic raged down upon Sion as Squall slowly gave ground, backing away under the combined assault. The reports of blasting gunfire filled the air as crystallized energy met arcane swords. A flurry of parries ensued, and Squall suddenly shifted stances, moving forward, Lionheart chopping aggressively against the blades. After all, no normal metal weapon could stand a hit from his supremely engineered weapon and Guardian Force junctions.

The blue-white edge of the gunblade slashed into the black metal of one of the arcane swords, and sheared straight through, shattering the weapon. It flew apart, breaking into dozens of pieces that themselves scattered like dust in the wind. Squall spun, Lionheart striking down a second magical blade, before parrying two more cuts and ducking beneath a third. His weapon flew across, destroying a third weapon-

_Po-pop._

-and two more arcane blades flashed into existence on either side of Squall as he fought, new rings of glyphs and sigils encircling them. Sion's smile expanded slightly as Squall's eyes widened in surprise, and the SeeD Commander spared a heartbeat to look at his enemy, and saw that he was neither focusing not gesturing, the clear telltale signs of magic . . . or at least, magic as _he_ knew it operated.

The assault of energy and bullets continued unabated as Squall fought for his life, magic crashing and breaking against unseen barriers and bullets smashing against invisible walls. One SeeD, realizing the futility of ranged attacks at this point, drew a longsword from his waist and rushed toward Sion as he focused on Squall. The slender blade arced back, and the SeeD prepared to slice down through his foe's back.

Sion's left hand rose up, and he snapped a finger. There was another faint _pop_, and the SeeD came up short, eyes blinking in confusion. He looked down, and saw a black spear having thrust itself through his gut, manifesting directly in his path. Sion, for his part, merely flicked a finger in a dismissive manner, and the spear dissolved, leaving the mortally wounded SeeD in complete confusion as he toppled backward, his heart run through by the arcane weapon.

Shouts of outrage filled the air amid the torrent of gunfire and the scrape of gunblade on sword. Lionheart sheared across and through another striking blade, and cut it in half, only to have the destroyed weapon replaced instantly. Surrounding Sion, the SeeDs continued to attack, but to no avail, their magic and firearms useless against the barriers guarding his body. Finally, another SeeD ceased firing with his rifle, and focused, tapping the power within that gave him his exceptional strength.

And finally, Sion's smile vanished as he spun sharply on his heels, pointed a hand at the SeeD, and flexed his will. A concave wall of force curled around his arm, and within it gathered power and energy, coalescing into a glowing mass of raging light that began to gleam as brightly as any sun. Several onlookers averted their eyes as Sion opened his hand, and a barrage of dozens of white balls of radiance erupted from his arm, twisting and spinning across the room and into the SeeD. The first dozen collided with a red wall of force surrounding the SeeD, the barrier presented by his Guardian Force, but the wall was overwhelmed in an instant, and the remainder of the assault smashed through and into the soldier's chest. His eyes widened as his summons were halted, and blood gushed from his chest as the energy detonated, white light ripping into his flesh and tearing him in half.

"Order your people to stand down, Commander," Sion stated as he spun toward Squall, his smile returning. "To fight for you will only bring their deaths." The Commander did not reply, battling desperately to keep the enemy blades at bay while trying to think of a way to counter Sion's assault. He managed a glance into his opponent's eyes, and noted his smile, and then a thought struck the SeeD Commander.

His gunblade swung and parried, and then, as he beat back the attacking swords for a single instant, his legs pumped, and he flew backwards, toward the doorway. Squall hit the floor with his back and rolled onto his feet, and then spun, shouldering his way through the doors and into the hallway beyond, the black swords whirling and pursuing him as he moved.

And as Squall expected, Sion frowned and moved forward, picking up his cane with one hand and moving into a distinctly unrefined jog as Squall ducked around one corner of the door and out of sight. The swords followed, but as Squall raised his weapon to parry a thrust, he found the attack much more clumsy and simplistic, the fury of the swords' onslaught diminished as he passed out of Sion's line of sight. Lionheart chopped and slashed, and in a heartbeat two of the arcane blades were broken. His weapon slashed twice more, destroying two more blades, and Sion came around the corner, magic and rifle fire splashing and bouncing off his defenses like so much cascading water. He spun toward Squall in time to see the SeeD leap at him, his gunblade rising up and starting to descend.

_Pop._

The gunblade rang against a concave barrier of unyielding metal that appeared before Sion. The robed man leapt backward, waving his left hand in the air as his shield broke under the weight of Squall's blow. The bursts of displaced air filled Squall's ears, and four fresh arcane swords materialized before Sion, whirling to stop Squall's rush cold. Frowning, Sion raised his left hand, pointing it at Squall as he backed away, Lionheart once more weaving a blue-white wall before him as he fended off the assault, and then the klaxon of an alarm filled the air as someone finally tripped the alarm and sounded a Red Alert.

Energy shaped around Sion as he focused, and the assault of spinning and stabbing blades slowed, if only for a slight fraction of an instant, and Squall suspected he was finally understanding the limit of Sion's weapon-summoning abilities. The magical energy surging around Sion's hand continued to gather, and Squall suddenly broke from the striking blades, instead running toward one of the walls and leaping up at it. He kicked off as the swords pursued, flipping over the blades and coming down with his gunblade chopping and hacking. In a flash of blade on blade, two of the swords were broken, and Squall bolted straight at Sion.

The energy coalesced into a single shining bolt of light, and the robed man swept his arm before him, unleashing a fan-like wave of light that smashed into the charging SeeD. His skin erupted in agony as searing pain shot through him, his jacket shredded by the burst of energy, and he flew backward off his feet. The swords whirled to face the SeeD, coming to a stop directly overhead, their blades angled toward his head and chest.

Instinct saved Squall as he saw the blades poise to strike, and he rolled aside without thinking, an instant before the blades stabbed into the carpeted floor beneath where he had lain. Squall shoved himself up to his feet as a river of magic filled the corridor, dozens of SeeDs entering the hallway from the Operations Room and elsewhere and targeting Sion. The spells tore through the swords and broke them, and enough magic to break and shatter a platoon of main battle tanks crashed into Sion as he stood there.

A single, almost ear-bursting _pop_ erupted, and a _huge_ blade, nearly three feet wide and seven feet long, flashed into existence above the raging magic, and stabbed toward Squall. Cursing, he dove to the floor as the blade stabbed into and cleaved into the wall, cutting a breach that opened into the main Garden lobby below. Squall rolled onto his back and slashed up, and as with the smaller blades, Lionheart cleaved straight through the oversized weapon, shattering and scattering it into the air. Squall kicked back up onto his feet and spun toward Sion, who was still absorbing a tremendous assault of energy that was literally shaking the floor with its fury.

A bolt of light shot toward Squall from amidst the chaos, and he twisted aside, the light barely scratching along his flank and scorching flesh beneath his left arm. The blast continued, smashing through the damaged wall behind Squall and tearing a breach into the open heart of the Garden.

The chaotic swirl of magic shifted, and suddenly Sion burst out of the waves of energy and crashed into Squall, his shoulder leading. The SeeD Commander was hurled backward into the breach by the surprisingly powerful impact, and sent plummeting hundreds of feet to the main floor below.

A second later, Sion, with a smile and a jaunty wave to the SeeDs who were tracking him, stepped into the breach in pursuit of the falling Commander.

* * *

The raging klaxon of a Red Alert jarred Rinoa out of the book she was reading, and she leapt up to her feet as crimson lights began to strobe and pulse across the library. She reached into her coat's pocket and pulled out a pair of stones, one red and another dull brown, and focused on them, calling upon the Guardian Forces to junction unto her. Their power flowed from her hand and into her body, their supernatural strength surging through her body in an instant. With the Guardian Forces junctioned to her, Rinoa started to run out of the room, even as those SeeDs and armed cadets present were already rushing out of the chamber to respond to the general alert. 

A Red Alert was only sounded when the Garden was under a serious attack. But who was invading Balamb Garden? Not only were there a thousand SeeDs here, there were an equal number of cadets, many of them almost as good as fully-trained SeeDs. It would be suicide to attack Garden directly . . . .

She rushed into the central chamber of the academy, which was filled with complete chaos as SeeDs and cadets armed themselves, rushing about, trying to make order of the situation. Rinoa expected to hear gunfire, and to see enemies battling Garden defenders in the main chamber, but no foes were present. In fact, there seemed to be nothing wrong at all-

"Up there!" came a shout, and Rinoa cast her eyes up in the direction a SeeD was pointing, and her heart when cold as she saw _Squall_, plummeting a hundred feet and more in an instant toward the floor below. Without thinking, Rinoa thrust both hands at him, shouting something incoherent as she flexed her magical powers. An instant before Squall smashed into the ceramic tiling, he came to a dead stop, confused and off-guard for an instant, before he pointed a hand in the direction he had come and channeled a blast of flame magic straight up.

The blast lanced up into the air, and smashed into the underside of a iron disc, encrusted with arcane runes. Atop this iron disc stood a smiling, bearded man in a blue robe, a quintet of black swords ringed by more arcane glyphs swirling around him. He gestured in the air as he descended, and Rinoa could _feel_ the magic he was weaving, powerful defensive barriers that swirled around him, even as the swords dove down toward Squall. Instinctively, Rinoa released the telekinetic grip on Squall, and an instant later, three hundred SeeDs and cadets, guided by Squall's simple but efficient marker of a fire spell, sent a truly bone shuddering storm of arcane hell into the sky at the descending figure. Rinoa raised her hands as well, channeling a raw barrage of holy magic, more powerful than what fifty SeeDs could muster, and sent the spell careening toward the figure as Squall scrambled away from the arcane swords pursuing him.

The entire interior of Garden strobed with the chaotic light of a hundred spells colliding at a single target, and though Rinoa could see through the chaos of the magic and understood just how much power had been released - including her own mighty holy spell, she realized with stunning clarity that the strange blue-robed man had somehow shrugged off the attack.

Even as the magic was still swirling and colliding, a figure plummeted from the chaos and landed lightly on the ceramic tiles, and ran toward Squall. The blue-robed man closed in, sneering as he advanced, and his summoned swords rang and scraped against the SeeD Commander's gunblade. Magic thundered against the barriers surging around him, and bullets flattened and deformed against his defenses.

Rinoa began to channel another spell, but even as she did so, her powers and inhuman Sorceress senses allowed her to see the threads of magic weaving around the man. Energy swirled and twisted like it was his plaything, and walls of force surged around him, constantly replacing the barriers being battered down by the attacking SeeDs. Rinoa realized with a shock that this man was manipulating magic with almost effortless ease, and the Sorceress power within told her exactly what he was using.

_Arcane magic, but nothing like I've ever seen before . . . ._

* * *

Squall fast found his options running out. _Nothing _was stopping this man; his defensive barriers were literally stopping the magical assaults of over a hundred SeeD, and a hundred more were emptying rifles and sidearms into the chaos. Dozens more were rushing to the site of the battle, and Squall himself was being assaulted endlessly by Sion's conjurations. 

Yet, as the Commander fought on, he locked eyes with Sion, and noticed something. Though he was still smiling, it seemed as if he was trying to hang on to his grin, and his brow was furrowing in concentration, as if the constant assault was holding too much of his attention. Yet, his eyes remained on Squall, and the Commander could see the raw, seemingly irrational _hate_ raging through them, directed specifically at Squall.

_He can't hold out._

But it was only a matter of time before Sion started using those energy spells he had cast up above, in the Ops Room; Squall had to take him out _now._

Lionheart chopped and dove, and Squall ducked. His gunblade cleaved left, arced right, and he shot ahead, as four of the swords broke in an instant. The distance between himself and Sion began to shorten rapidly, the Commander thundering toward the robed man, and behind him, Squall could hear the _pop_ of more swords being summoned - though nearly a second longer than it had taken before. He closed in, Lionheart rising, and Sion began to raise a hand to deflect the incoming blow.

Something was wrong though; either he couldn't raise another shield, or his attention was so split it would take too long to conjure a barrier. The gunblade stabbed forward, and instead of blocking with a spell, Sion whipped his cane across into the blade. Lionheart cleaved clean through the cane, breaking it in half and gashing along Sion's chest, blood flying from his torso.

"_Die, _Leonhart!" Sion suddenly shouted, and his left arm whipped across, and from somewhere within his robes, a small, heavy blade came out and slashed against Squall's chest. He fell back, crimson flying off the edge of the knife - a wide-bladed weapon that curved forward past the hilt, immaculate and sharp. A kukri knife.

An instant later, one of Sion's blades plunged through Squall's back and out his left shoulder, and the SeeD's own blood splattered across the robed-man's face and beard.

"_Squall!"_ came a sudden scream over the chaos, and he recognized Rinoa's voice. A sudden surge of adrenaline unlike anything he'd felt in the battle erupted, and his left hand shot up, grabbing the arcane blade by the edge. His hand twisted, and the weapon _shattered_ in his grasp, even as Squall spun around. Lionheart flew up and, in a one-handed cleave, split through two of the arcane swords and parried another's attack. He dove forward, under the last blade, even as it slashed along his flank and drew more blood.

Squall whipped around, facing the blades, Lionheart slashing and cutting, and beyond Sion, he could see a flash of golden light. Then the gleaming image of golden angel wings started to appear, rising above the black-haired form of Rinoa as she levitated into the air. The full fury of a raging Sorceress began to bare its weight and majesty at Sion, and white light, the power of destruction and divine, heavenly wrath, formed in the Sorceress' hands.

Sion did not miss this, even as Squall smashed through the last two of his summoned swords. His face contorted in fury as he stared directly at Squall, and the Commander knew the look of a man who understood the end was at hand.

"_No!" _Sion shouted, and he thrust both hands outward, and what seemed to be a iron wall of twisting, gleaming runes surged up around and behind him, staving off the shining apocalypse that was Rinoa's assault. His eyes, however, never left Squall's as he thrust both arms forward, and a storm of black blades erupted from nothing, hurtling at the SeeD Commander. Lionheart flew and parried, and Sion hurled himself forward, brandishing his kukri knife, slashing up at Squall's throat. Lionheart flashed, and the immaculate knife cut.

"I will not die until I have _destroyed_ you!" came a resounding scream from the robed man as the barrier behind him broke.

Then there was only silence, as the blue-white blade of Lionheart emerged from Sion's back.

Squall stared into his enemy's eyes, and watched as Sion's expression shifted form manic desperation to a slowly cracking smile. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as he stood there, the gunblade driven through his stomach, his own blood dripping off the weapon's edge. A poignant ring of metal on stone resounded as the knife fell from his hand to the deck.

"Do you . . . ." Sion began to whisper, and then let out a laughing cough. Blood splattered across Squall's cheek, but he didn't flinch, instead listening to his enemy's last words.

"Do you . . . honestly think this is the end?" Sion's smile grew, and he leaned forward, even as he was dying. "That I can be stopped by just _killing_ me? _This_ death is just the . . . beginning, _Squall Leonhart_."

"Beginning?" Squall echoed as Sion slumped forward, laughing quietly. His body pressed against Squall's as he tried to push him back. "Beginning of what?"

There was nothing. Sion's eyes were blank, and the blood no longer flowed freely from his mouth as he dropped to the deck, the gunblade still buried in his stomach. Squall stared down at the corpse, and at the strange man's smile as it never wavered, looking up at him with dead eyes, as if mocking him.

He glanced up, around, at the hundreds of SeeDs and cadets staring on. Walls were cracked and singed, and the entire building looked like a hurricane had ripped through it in the chaos. He turned his eyes back down to the lone man who had caused this entire bloodbath, and at the immaculate, ornate blade he had held.

A chill ran down Squall's back as he looked down at the kukri knife laying on the floor beside Sion's corpse. Something deep down within, that instinctive side of him that had kept him alive so long, warned the SeeD Commander that Sion was right.

Somehow, this _was_ just the beginning of _something_ much, much worse.

* * *

Lieutenant Wagner felt warmth running between his legs, and recognized it as a sign he was somehow still alive; the dead didn't shame themselves. He lowered his hands, his body slowly relaxing, and saw one of the panels on the side of the warhead had blown out in a dazzling display of light. 

Specialist Blain blinked, and looked to the blown panel, where a small hardened LCD screen had been hidden. On that screen were ten short words:

"_One million dead. The next one won't be a dud."_

* * *

-

* * *

I got lazy with my description of the Operations Room, I know. 

Other than that, there's not much to comment on in this chapter, except that I _know_ Sion is crazy powerful. There's a reason for that :P

Until next chapter...


	3. Chapter II: Mobilization

**Soundtrack Notes:** Recommended theme for this chapter is a looped version of the Main Theme from the video game Black. My profile has a site for legal and free downloads of obscure game music in case you're looking for it.

**Note: **I'm interpreting the Dollet "accent" as a British/Scottish/Irish one, as I wrote in _Ronin_. Keep in mind that I'm American, however, so I don't know the general dialect of the British Isles, so I'm going to try to avoid using most of that in this story.

* * *

_I have stood on the brink of death, and I have held men in their last moments of life. I have held my ground against inplacable enemy advances. When the Gallies amrched into Dollet's capital, I led the resistance, the guerillas, the mobile infantry that would hit and run. For forty-eight hours we held that city until rescue come and reinforcements arrived, and during that time I saw one hundred and seventy-four of my men and women die at the hands of the Galbadian army, and ten times that many Gallies fall when SeeD arrived. _

_Nearly four thousand of ours and five thouand of theirs in total died in that battle, and what for?_ _A Sorceress who was so vain she wanted her picture broadcast around the world? Is that what war is now? Soldiers' lives are tossed aside for a politician's petty desires? Soldiers die for revenge, for pride, for publicity? What happened to dying for the country, for putting ones' lives at stake to defend one's nation against enemy threats? Its all gone out the window, pissed on and shat on by the bastards who run the government and who throw away lives for personal gain and personal pride._

_I will be damned if I stand aside and let more good men and women die for some fat fuck in office. These are my men, and I will not allow them to stain their sacrifice with their worthless desires and petty wants._

-excerpt from note left in the desk of Colonel James Ellis, Dollet 125th Marine Battalion

* * *

_**Chapter Two: Mobilization**_

* * *

His boots clicked against the obsidian floor of the hallways of Bastion Red. His olive uniform and coat were spotless, his multitude of ranks and ribbons immaculate, and his garrison cover resting lightly atop his head, the Thrustavies, globe, and anchor on the front polished and gleaming. But though he was the picture perfect representation of a Dollet officer, General Randolph of the Dollet Marine Corps far preferred to be clad in the fatigues and utilities of a soldier in the field, commanding his troops with a rifle in hand and blood on his knife. 

None of that mattered, however; he'd just gotten word that someone had attempted to detonate a nuclear warhead in the middle of the capital city of his nation. Minutes ago, word had been spread that the warhead had been a dud, merely left to illustrate a point. Someone was clearly screwing with the Dollet military and government in general.

He stepped past two guards flanking the entrance to the secured conference room in Bastion Red's inner sanctum. Within its soundproof walls were the dozen ministers of the Dollet Dukedom's executive office, along with Duke Edwin Hardolington himself. They nodded as Randolph sat down at his seat at the table, as Dollet's leading commanding military officer.

"Its _them_,' whispered one of the ministers next to Randolph, and he nodded as he took off his cover and set it on the table, and turned his eyes toward the video screen at the far end of the room, which showed the weathered face of a man clad in a Dollet military uniform, but without ranks insignia of any kind. Gray tinged the edges of his blonde crewcut, but his face seemed as lifelike as any others', if it weren't for the dead serious military blankness on his features. Randolph recognized the officer instantly.

"Hyne, _Colonel Ellis_?" General Randolph whispered as he stared at the man on the other end of the video. Colonel James Ellis slowly nodded.

"Yes, General, you're correct." he replied evenly.

"What the hell is going on here, Colonel?" demanded one of the Cabinet ministers angrily.

"As of two hours ago, the Amorris Island naval defense facility and attached long range cruise missile facilities have been placed under my direct command," replied Colonel Ellis, his voice even and solid, displaying no fear, anger, or other emotion. "The entire garrison on the island complex is also under my command." Ellis reached off-screen and tapped a button. A map of the mountains north of Dollet appeared, and a camouflaged base, highlighted by red and yellow markings, was identified.

"Last night, a platoon of soldiers under my direct command infiltrated the Soren Munitions Depot and captured nine thermonuclear warheads, and disabled the remainder. I now have in my possession all of Dollet's thermonuclear arsenal."

"The Dukedom does not have a nuclear arsenal! They've been banned!" responded one of the other ministers, to which Ellis shook his head.

"Both Galbadia and Dollet currently possess a small number of nuclear warheads," the Colonel explained. "Part of a secret treaty between President Deling and Duke Haroldington, signed nearly twenty years ago. Both countries are limited to a mere twenty warheads in total. President Deling's warhead arsenal was destroyed by SeeD three years ago, and I currently own all of the available warheads the were, until last night, in your possession." As that was being spoken, the camera turned to point at something to Ellis' left, a line of eight conical shapes, the nuclear warheads that he had spoken of.

"James, what are you doing?" Randolph asked quietly, his fingers tightening as he stared at his friend. "We're at _war_ right now-"

"That's exactly the point, General," Ellis replied immediately. "We are at war with _Galbadia._ Our _allies._ Or have you people forgotten that three years ago we were fighting alongside Caraway's troops to save Esthar and the rest of the world from a bloody Sorceress? Adel Harbinger, for Hyne's sakes! And now where are we? Our troops, some of whom may have bloody bled alongside with Galbadian troops, are now killing those same Galbadians!"

"Colonel, you have no idea what is-" another minister began to say, but was cut off as Ellis leaned forward, glaring into the monitor.

"I know damn well what you're planning, you sack of shi," he snarled. "You're trying to take advantage of trouble in the Gallies' back yard so you can finally take back what we've lost over the last forty years! Because we came from Centra, we obviously can't be weak enough to have lost to such backwards barbarians as Deling and his thugs, right?" Ellis shook his head, his eyes convicting ever man in that room, save for General Randolph.

"Because of your blasted pride, because your damned prejudices and sense of superiority, you're taking our boys and girls and hurling them against the most powerful nation on this content! And for what? A canyon and a barren plateau of dry desert? Our soldiers are bleeding and dying for patches of dirt and a little forest between two mountains?"

Ellis raised a hand and slammed it down against something off-screen.

"And what happens when Galbadia crushes the Timber Liberation Army?" he demanded. "What happens when the Gallies aren't distracted by some rabble in Timber and decide to react to this? They've got their long-range cruise missiles back online, and the largest army in the western world that outclasses our troops in technology and manpower! Do you bloody well think that they're going to sit back and let us take over a quarter of their land, after killing hundreds of their soldiers?" Ellis jabbed a finger at the monitor.

"You fat fucks, sitting in your offices, wielding the military like it's a pack of your pet hunting dogs, not caring if they live or die. Our soldiers, our brothers and sisters and sons and daughters are dying for your pride, and I'm not going to stand back and let you piss and shit on them like you've been pissing and shitting on them for decades!

"This war ends now," Ellis stated, his voice slowly reverting back to military calm and precision. "In the next forty-eight hours, you will announce a voluntary end to hostilities with Galbadia and the opening of mediated talks with neutral third parties to divide up the area of conflict. Duke Haroldington, you will then announce the resignation of the entire Ministry and your own office."

"Preposterous!" shouted Haroldington. "You must be mad, Colonel!"

"You will then announce that you have instead appointed General Randolph to the office of Duke in your stead," Ellis continued with an icy cold tone. "He is the only man in this government I trust to keep our nations' true needs in sight. Failure to do so will result in retaliation."

"Define retaliation, Colonel," Randolph asked quietly.

"After forty-eight hours I will launch a nuclear missile into the southern mountains at Lollapalooza Canyon. The detonation will be large enough for everyone to see the blast. Following this, I will announce a nuclear strike at a Galbadian base of my choosing. I will then follow through with that strike six hours later. After that I will begin bombing pre-selected strategic targets in Galbadia with no further announcement."

"Hyne," whispered one of the ministers. "The Galbadians-"

"They will not believe any claims you would make of this being an independent strike," Ellis finished. "And will launch a full-scale assault upon Dollet. The people of Dollet will be outraged that you chose to use nuclear missiles against Galbadia in such a manner, and will revolt and demand your resignations. Esthar will not react favorably, and Garden may even be involved."

Ellis leaned forward.

"You have forty-eight hours to end this war and resign, or I will do it _for _you."

The monitor went blank.

* * *

The painkillers Kadowaki had pumped him full of were leaving his body in a pleasant state of numbness. Squall sat back on the bed in the infirmary as the Doctor continued applying healing salves directly to the previously-gaping wound in his left shoulder and torso. 

"You're lucky you were still be able to defend yourself," she remarked. "This wound should heal up fine, though I can't say the same about the other guy. You got his good."

"Rinoa got him, I just gutted him," Squall managed to say through the painkillers. Thirty seconds after Sion had finally gone still, the trauma of getting a sword stabbed up through his back had caused him to keel over and drop to the deck. Thankfully a hundred SeeDs with healing magic, plus Rinoa's powers, were on hand to stabilize him and get him to the infirmary.

That was thirty minutes ago, and he was on his way to a proper healing, with Rinoa on one side of the bed and Kadowaki on the other, using their respective healing arts to patch up the wounds he'd suffered. Movement caught his eye and he turned his head in time to see Quistis step around beside his bed, beside Rinoa as the Sorceress continued applying healing power to his flank wound.

"How many?" he asked her, and she shook her head grimly.

"Two dead," she replied. "Corporal Ains and Sergeant Mills. Thankfully, though, no one else was injured in the battle."

"Two dead is two too many," Squall muttered. "Who's in charge right now?"

"Xu's taking over, since Cid is still meeting with President Loire," Quistis replied. "She's got the Garden locked down and ha teams sweeping the building for any other intruders."

"Do we know how he got in?" Rinoa asked, and Quistis shrugged.

"The guard at the front gate remembers him arriving, and letting him inside, but she doesn't remember how he got past her without credentials," she replied.

"Mind influencing magic," Rinoa replied immediately, and Quistis blinked at the instant analysis. "That's the only way he could have done it, if its like you described it. Edea told me how she could manipulate people's minds and bodies, like she did with Seifer."

"But Sion isn't a Sorceress," Kadowaki chimed in. "At least, if he is, he's got a leg up on Adel in manliness." The Doctor paused for a moment as Rinoa chuckled and Quistis cracked a smile, before tying a bandage around the rapidly-closing injury. "There. You should be good to go, but be careful. Those painkillers are nasty, and you don't want to fall down a flight of stairs on that stuff."

"Thanks, Doctor," he managed as Rinoa led him out of the room, more than his share to the weight leaning on her. They started out of the infirmary, and Squall turned his head toward Quistis.

"We don't have a coroner," he said, "And Kadowaki's not suited well to forensics and autopsy. Contact Esthar, see if we can get . . . President Loire to send a medical crew over to examine the corpse. I want to know everything about Sion."

"Easy enough," Quistis answered. "I'll pass it up the chain to Cid. Are you going to rest or keep on serving as Commander?"

As she was speaking, they passed through the doorway connecting the infirmary to the main lobby and hub, and suddenly the trio found themselves looking at over a hundred SeeDs and cadets gathered outside. Their sudden hush as the group emerged, combined with the way they looked at Squall with a combination of concern, respect, and a small bit of fear, told him all he needed to know.

At the forefront of the gathered group of Garden soldiers was Zell Dincht, who rushed forward as soon as they emerged.

"You okay, man?" he asked immediately, and Squall nodded numbly. Instantly, the brawler spun toward the crowd, and cupped his hands to his mouth.

"He's okay! Squall's fine!" A half-second later, the entire crowd burst into thunderous cheers, fists pumping in the air as others clapped. Rinoa smiled and laughed quietly, as did Quistis, though Squall seemed almost mortified by the praise gushing forth from his troops.

"I told you," Rinoa whispered into his ear as they moved forward, and the crowd began to part to let them through the mass of waving fists and clapping hands. "They love you, Squall." He managed a single quiet laugh and an almost-smile at that.

"Leonhart!" someone shouted, and then repeated it a second time. Another person echoed the shout, and within seconds everyone on the crowd was shouting Squall's name.

"_Leonhart! Leonhart! Leonhart!"_

Embarrassed by the show of loyalty, Squall said nothing and instead leaned on Rinoa as they walked through the crowd. Halfway through, one of the Seeds stepped in and helped him stand, and others crowded around to assist him. Suddenly, he found himself being lifted up into the air, and held aloft by several SeeDs, who continued chanting his name over and over again. he looked around, not sure whether to demand to be put back down or to just let his troops celebrate, and finally cast a helpless look to Rinoa below. For her part, she looked ridiculously amused, as were Zell and Quistis, and the SeeD Commander finally decided to go with it.

He thrust his right hand up in the air, and the entirety of Balamb Garden heard the momentous cheer that echoed from the central lobby, like a rumbling earthquake of human voices.

* * *

"_Fucking Hyne,_ he is not serious," breathed one of the ministers, and eyes and heads turned toward General Randolph. The Marine waited silently for everyone's attention to shift toward him, and then slowly nodded, closing his eyes as he did so. 

"He is," the General replied, almost beneath his breath. "I have known Colonel James Ellis since he was a Corporal. That man is dead serious about this. If you do not resign then in forty-eight hours the Galbadians will shit themselves when a Dollet nuclear missile goes off on their border. Do not mistake his intent or you will pay dearly for it, gentlemen."

"Then what do we do?" Duke Haroldington muttered, shaking his head. "I am not going to bow before that madman."

"We have to go in immediately," replied a minister down the table. "Everything we've got. All our reserves, all of our ships, all of our fighters and bombers. We have to pound that island chain into the sea!"

"That'll be a massacre," Randolph replied, shaking his head. "You and I, and everyone here knows what Amorris Island is. Hyne, we built that damned base twenty years ago to fend of Esthar. The surface-to-ship missiles there sank an entire Estharian battle group. They've got enough missiles and AA there to sink our entire navy four times over and blast every plane we launch out of the sky. Its medium-range cruise missiles can hit targets as far away as Galbadia City. That island chain is impregnable by a conventional military force, and we'd lose ninety percent of our fleet and invasion troops before they'd even set foot on the islands. In other words, we're _right fucked_."

"What about Esthar?" another minister asked. "We could contact them explain them of the situation, and request an anti-matter missile barrage against the islands. Loire would understand the situation."

"But would he be willing to do so?" asked Randolph, who closed his eyes. "The people of Esthar are so busy with their own problems right now that they don't want to get involved in other peoples' affairs. Not to mention this is a _Dollet _affair, not an Estharian one." One of the ministers began to speak, but Randolph held up a hand. "I did not say we should discard the option, but we need to think of other avenues of approach. In the meantime, I do believe we should contact Esthar to see if they are willing to carry out the operation as we request.

"The only military option that seems viable," Randolph continued, "Is covert assault. Land a strike force on the islands via stealth and disable the warheads. Without the nuclear missiles, Ellis has no chips and we can simply blockade him to death."

"A direct strike may prompt him to launch the nukes," warned another minister, to which Randolph shook his head firmly.

"Ellis believes in what he is doing," he replied. "That man has said he will wait forty-eight hours, and he damn well will wait forty-eight hours. Even if the entire combined armies of Esthar, Galbadia, Dollet, and Garden were to come crashing down on him, he would not advance his timetable by a single second."

"Then we should mobilize our special forces," remarked Duke Haroldington. "Get nuclear specialists imbedded within them and prepare them for an attack."

"That may not be as easy as we think," Randolph remarked. "And, gentlemen, I'm not saying that you even think that this _will _be easy. The island has a standing garrison of over a thousand men, and facilities to supply, support, and house ten thousand more, with sufficient stores of ammunition, food, and fuel for a year of sustained combat. Even if half the standing garrison has been suborned by Ellis, that's still five hundred men, far more than all but a major strike with our special forces units will be able to handle - a major strike, I might add, that will likely be detected before it arrives. And that is if James hasn't recruited more troops from our ranks into his cause."

"Then what do you suggest?" Haroldington asked, and Randolph closed his eyes once more, before opening them and staring directly at the Duke.

"We need the maximum available firepower and combat ability with the minimal number of troops deployed, and we need them fast and competent. In other words, there is only one real option for us to use to augment our own strike teams.

"SeeD."

* * *

"Squall!" 

He had heard the pounding of her boots on the steps outside well before Selphie had burst through the door of his office and dove across his desk. The small SeeD, clad like she had hastily thrown her sundress on over a bathing suit, couldn't have weighed over one hundred pounds, but her impact smashed into his chest and knocked him out of his chair and onto the floor.

"Ouch." His grunt was barely audible over Selphie's giggles as she helped his stand back up after the epic glomph, and he picked up his chair, before settling back into it. At the entrance to his office stood Irvine, wearing only his coat, pants, and boots, and gripping his rifle around the barrel, in front of the mag-well.

"Squall, sorry we're late," Irvine said with a grin. Selphie nodded apologetically.

"I drove back as fast as I could," she explained. "I think a Balamb cop tried to ticket us, but I'm not sure, I just saw him for a second on the highway."

"We didn't get back until you had already been treated in the infirmary," Irvine finished. "Sorry."

"You two were on R&R leave, not your fault," Squall replied with a shake of his head. "Good to see you guys back, though."

"So, what happened?" Selphie asked. "I heard it was just one guy." To this, Squall shrugged, not sure how to explain.

"We really don't have a clue," he said. "All we have is a name, Sion, and that he was focusing entirely on me. He could have killed hundreds of SeeDs, and he did kill two of our people, but he ignored anyone who didn't pose a direct threat and attacked me almost exclusively."

"Crazy," Selphie muttered, and Squall nodded.

"We don't have any real clues, except that he was using some powerful brand of magic that Rinoa called 'arcane.' I've got a coroner team from Esthar coming to check his body, but aside from that, the only other clue we've got is that he had an odd kukri knife on him."

"Arcane magic?" Selphie echoed. "Hey, that's Trabia's specialty! Let me have a look at the CCTV tapes, see what I can figure out. Maybe we can get Matron in on this too, see what she thinks."

"Good idea, Selphie," the SeeD Commander replied. He glanced to the sharpshooter. "Irvine, I know its not your specialty, but-"

"Kukris are used by some special forces," Irvine said, furrowing his brow. "I prefer guns, but I can follow up on the knife lead if you want. Very least I can call up Galbadia Garden and get more information on the weapon."

"thank you," Squall said, but Selphie waved a hand, brushing it off.

"We couldn't help in the battle, but we can help in finding out who this guy is," she replied, and then pumped a fist in the air "Whoo! Fearless Investigator Selphie, on the case!"

Squall frowned, and whatever he was about to say in response to Selphie's enthusiasm was cut off as his desk phone began to ring. He grunted and picked it up.

"Leonhart," Squall said into the phone.

"_Commander?" _the voice was from Lieutenant Lukan, who ran the communications hub on the Ops floor. _"Sir, we have an urgent message from the Dollet Dukedom. Its from General Randolph."_

"Put him one, Squall said, his tone betraying the seriousness of the situation to Selphie and Irvine. A second later, a familiar voice cut in over the phone's speaker.

"_Commander Leonhart?" _came the clipped tones of Dollet's military commander, General Randolph.

"General," Squall replied, his short and curt greeting typical.

"_Commander, I know we don't have time for idle chit-chat, and I know you don't like talking anyway,"_ the General stated. "_So I'll be brief and blunt. If we don't get SeeD's help _now, _our entire continent is going to be one massive radioactive wasteland by the end of the week."_

* * *

The sunlight shined down on his graying blonde hair as he walked outside the command tent on Island Two, the small island southeast of the two main islands of the Amorris island chain. He anticipated that the Dollet ministers would be triangulating his position during the exchange, which was why he had transmitted from the comparatively small island. Less than two square miles total, it was mostly rock and sand and tropical forest, with only a few bunkers and missile emplacements. 

However tempting the island would be in a major assault, it was actually a deathtrap, pockmarked with concealed mines and offering little cover to any occupying force; artillery on the other islands would turn any force holding Island Two into hamburger in a matter of minutes.

That was how the Amorris Islands had been designed when they were first chosen for a base: one large deathtrap for anyone getting near them, and that was why Colonel James Ellis had taken the chain as his base of operations. Nearly two thousand troops, loyal to him and his cause, had been preparing the island for the last several months, quietly filtering into the garrison and replaced disloyal soldiers and preparing the islands for a massive siege; any military response against the island would be a disaster.

The bastards in the government had been planning this war for months, and Ellis had known early on that nothing he or any of the more foresighted military leaders could have done would have stopped them from going through with it. But only a few officers had the balls to actually openly oppose the upcoming war, and of them, only Ellis and those loyal to him had the courage to resort to armed conflict to stop the carnage.

_Waging war for peace,_ he thought grimly as he looked up at the UH-89 Albatross helicopter descending toward them. Unlike the UH-60s used by the regular Dollet military, the Albatross was a pure transport chopper, with armored and enclosed walls and two powerful rotors, though it featured a pair of chainguns along the flanks to provide fire support. The transport touched down in the sandy helipad outside the small command tent, and the rear and sides opened up. A dozen men, a bodyguard detail, began to pile out, though unlike the soldiers at the perimeter of the small base, these did not wear the dark green jungle camouflage of Dollet soldiers. Rather, they were a varied mix, most of them clad in jungle fatigues with heavy vests and pouches, or dark green shirts and fatigue pants, with an assortment of utility belts, caps, loose vests, and sunglasses. Most of them had G36C carbines or G36 rifles, as opposed to the M4s and M16s that Ellis' regulars carried.

Though the Colonel was glad to have extra manpower along, he was not happy to see the leering snake emblems of these newcomers, who did not follow the cause as his soldiers did.

"Asp," muttered one of the Colonel's aides, a Lieutenant. "Mercenaries. We don't need them here."

"Relax, Dougan," Ellis replied quietly. "Most of the Asp are on Islands Three and Four, where they belong. We've got One, Two, and Five to ourselves, and that's where the real action will be."

In the middle of the group of mercenaries was a slender, short, brown-haired man, who was clad the same as they. However, his bearing and the way the mercenaries surrounded him but kept their distance easily identified him as their commanding officer.

"Commander Doppel," Ellis stated as he reached forward, extending his hand. The mercenary leader accepted and shook it.

"Colonel Ellis," Doppel replied. "I've heard that in about forty-eight hours, the fireworks are going to begin?"

"That's right," Ellis stated, and gestured back toward the tent. "Come inside, its hot as hell out here." They started to walk back to the command tent, though as the bodyguard detail followed, Ellis' soldiers stepped in between them. They came up short, but Doppel raised a hand toward his men.

"Relax," he ordered. "Secure a perimeter. This will only be a moment." The mercenaries hesitated, but slowly dispersed, and Doppel and Ellis, with Lieutenant Dougan in tow, entered the relative shade and coolness of the camouflaged tent. Inside were a half-dozen Dollet soldiers and technicians, sitting at temporary terminals and portable radios. Doppel glanced around the room, and then paused at the eight warheads lined up at one side of the tent.

"What are those doing out here?" he asked, but Ellis waved a hand dismissively.

"I needed them to prove a point," he replied. "What brings you out here? Dollet will be fixing every bit of intelligence they have onto us right now, and the last thing we need is an anonymous helicopter flying back and forth between islands we don't want them taking an interest in."

"Which is why you've got so much hustle and bustle on One and Five, right?" Doppel replied, before shaking his head. He sat down in an empty chair at one end of the tent. "And don't worry about our areas, we've got those places locked down. Its not like we have anything truly critical on Three and Four, though we do have explosives set up just in case anyone gets too nosy."

"In typical secret lab fashion," Ellis stated, before moving toward a map set up on one side of the tent. "I still don't like you people having research operations so close to my base, but I'll live with it. I don't care about your labs as long as you keep funding our efforts."

"We both have much to gain from the replacement of the Dollet government, Colonel," Doppel replied, standing back up.

"I know that already," Ellis answered. "But why are you out here in the first place?"

"We've run a risk and analysis assessment, and our friend in the Dollet government has confirmed what we feared."

"Commando insertion," grunted the Colonel. "We're already taking precautions to deal with that."

"Not just _any _commandos, Colonel," Doppel replied. "The best. You know who I mean." Ellis paused, and then glanced back to Doppel, his expression shifting to stony impassiveness. He had fought at the Cape of Good Hope against the Galbadian army, and had seen them in action.

"SeeDs," he hissed, and Doppel nodded. "The good news is, Crowe is on his way to reinforce your operations in case they do get hired."

"We don't need any mercenary help," snarled Dougan, and Ellis snapped his gaze over his aide.

"That's enough, Lieutenant," he barked, before glancing back to Doppel. "If SeeD has been hired, we'll need all the help we can get. Will Crowe be enough?"

"He's the best we've got at jungle warfare," replied Doppel with smile. "If the SeeDs set one foot inside the woods, he'll _destroy_ them."

* * *

-

* * *

Connections between this fic's intro and the move "The Rock" have been made before, and I'm going to confirm now that there is a little bit of a connection to that movie. Hey, Sean Connery is awesome, and Ed Harris rules. :P 

Until next chapter . . . .


	4. Chapter III: Ghost Wire

**Recommended listening: **Recommended theme music for this chapter is "SeeD" off the FFVIII soundtrack, excepting the small scene with Squall and Rinoa, in which case the recommended music is "My Mind", also off the FFVIII soundtrack.

_

* * *

_

_Violence, naked force, has settled more issues in history than has any other factor, and the contrary opinion is wishful thinking at its worst. Breeds that forget this basic truth have always paid for it with their lives and freedoms._

-Robert Heinlein

_**Chapter III: Ghost Wire**_

* * *

It had been less than four hours since Squall had gotten the call from General Randolph, and Garden was already docking at one of the reserved military ports at Dollet's harbor. Almost immediately, a collection of high-ranking Dollet officers and their aides came aboard, and were escorted to the third floor of the floating academy. The sheer amount of glittering brass and silver insignia on their collars and chests warned the SeeDs present just how seriously the Dukedom was taking this incident.

Squall was waiting in the Ops Room, with his senior staff, including Selphie, Irvine, Quistis, and Zell, along with Xu and a dozen high-ranking SeeD officers, which Squall and Cid had dubbed the Chiefs of Staff. The Chiefs served as Garden's field commanders and executive officers, directly under Squall's own command.

The Dollet officers took their chairs, while their aides moved among the senior SeeD officers and distributed binders and folders. Squall flipped one open and noted several files, including the overhead survey maps and topographical layouts for an island chain marked "Amorris." Beneath these were listings of equipment and arms and tactical maps of the entirety of the facilities on these islands, and at the bottom was a file on . . . Colonel James Ellis. General Randolph's executive officer during the war with Galbadia.

"Commander," the General began as he sat down. "Forgive me for asking, but what happened around here? This place is a mess." His eyes flicked over the battle dressing on Squall's left shoulder.

"There was an incident earlier today," Squall replied, glancing out the side of the briefing room, where Sergeant Mills had been blasted in half by Sion's attack. They still hadn't cleaned up all the blood. "We were able to contain it."

"It won't affect your ability to help us, will it?" asked another officer, to which Squall shook his head.

"SeeD is ready for this operation," he replied. "Though you will need to be aware the extra costs and hazard pay that will need to be covered for asking us to deploy understrength against an entrenched enemy with radiological threats."

"We're well aware of the risk you will be taking, Commander," Randolph responded, nodding. "Fortunately, your people will not be going in alone. We're assigning two platoons of our own commandos from the Black Eagle Operations Group, along with a squad of nuclear specialists to deal with the warheads."

"Going over the contract proposed," Xu added, looking over the file in question. "You need us to lead your strike team in locating the warheads and disabling them, and then we extract, correct?"

"Yes ma'am," replied Randolph, nodding. "This is not intended to be a sustained operation; our AWOL reports indicate over a thousand men have not reported for duty in the last forty-eight hours, and we suspect the entire garrison has turned over to Ellis's side. Even for SeeD, that's a bit too much to handle." Squall nodded, looking over the files again. He checked the layout of the island chain, noting the five primary islands in the region; Island One was located to the north, with heavy fortifications and facilities. Island Two was southwest, and much smaller, with Island Three, being much larger, just southeast. Island Four was further southeast of Three, and to the east was Five. With the exception of Two, most of the islands were fairly large; One was over forty square miles across, and the others were roughly twenty to thirty square miles across.

"There's five islands total," he remarked. "These here, Two, Three and Four, have minimal weapons on them, while One and Five are well-defended. Why is that?"

"One is the northernmost island," Randolph explained, and he looked over the map. "Five is in the southeast. The other islands are toward the center of the chain. Amorris was set up to defend against Galbadian and Estharian naval aggression, and those were the directions that enemy naval forces would be anticipated to approach from. Main base facilities are set up on those two islands. The others are largely ignored, except to have remote defense and missile launchers set up on them, along with unused bunker complexes for standing garrisons in times of war."

"Do we know where the warheads are?" asked Quistis, to which Randolph shook his head.

"We triangulated a transmission that Ellis was sending down to Island Two, but he could have moved the warheads anywhere," replied another officer, a Colonel. "However, we believe that they are located on Island One, where the main continental cruise missile launchers are positioned."

"You don't have confirmation," Squall replied. It wasn't a question, but Randolph shook his head anyway.

"However, we can find the warheads easily enough," replied the General. "James will have to keep them in the general vicinity of his launchers just prior to firing, but he can hide them anywhere else on the islands, even on the less fortified ones. Moving them around, however, will take some work. If we can access his local computer networks, we should be able to pinpoint where he's moving troops and where he's keeping the warheads."

"And once those are found we locate and destroy them," Squall finished, nodding. "It sounds simple, in theory. But theory goes out the window once we hit the dirt." He closed the binder and leaned forward. "We're up against one of the best battalion officers in the history of this country, with two thousand men under his command on an island stronghold that can destroy any conventional force coming at it, and with nuclear armageddon waiting if we fail."

"Unfortunately, Commander, yes," replied Randolph, dead serious. "I would not be calling for your people if I did not feel that it was the only way for us to defuse this situation."

Squall was silent for a long moment, weighing the options, or rather the _lack_ of options. While they certainly_ could_ back out of this operation if they chose to, there was no doubt in Squall's mind that SeeD would _have_ to take this mission; it was this kind of problem that SeeD had been created to destroy. It wasn't a Sorceress, but not all world-threatening challenges were presented by Sorceresses, after all . . . .

"We're in, General," Squall replied quietly. The officers seemed to visibly relax, truly glad he had chosen to assist them. "However, this is a SeeD operation. Your people are to work under our command. SeeD will handle this operation SeeD's way, are we clear?"

"Crystal, Commander," Randolph replied. "We will need to be informed every step of the way, of course."

"Naturally," Squall replied. "Get your men here as soon as possible, so we can synch up our strike units. I want us working with each other, not against each other."

"Of course," Randolph said. He nodded to one of the officers. "Colonel Gamble is the head of our Black Eagle Operations Group. He will assist you." The man in question, a dark-skinned officer with jet-black, closely shaved hair, nodded to Squall. The SeeD Commander noted the patch on his left shoulder, of a black, swooping eagle.

"Do you have any other questions, Commander?" Randolph asked, to which Squall paused.

"General, you served with Ellis when we fought the Galbadians at Good Hope," Squall explained. "Why would he steal nuclear missiles and threaten your government with them?" Randolph was silent for several moments.

"He has a very strong view on how the military should be used," replied Randolph after a while. "He does not believe our current war with Galbadia is just, and this is his means of protesting that act."

"Rather extreme for a protest," Irvine muttered. Squall did not reply, instead considering for several long moments, before finally nodding.

"Very well, General," Squall said, standing. "SeeD accepts this contract." Randolph nodded, slowly standing up and straightening his uniform.

"Thank you, Commander."

* * *

Four more hours had passed, and they were less than forty hours from Ellis' deadline as Squall walked into the Garage hangar facility, where technicians were working on a quintet of Salamanders, fitting them with sonar absorbing plates for the covert insertion. Elsewhere, a group of eighty men in jungle-camouflage armor and gear were conferring and talking, readying weapons and equipment for the upcoming mission. They all featured black, swooping eagle tattoos on their biceps, the sign of the Dollet Black Eagles Special Operations group. 

Among them were a quarter of their number in Garden SeeDs, including Zell, Irvine, and Selphie. All of the Garden commandos were gearing up the same way, and every commando was armed with a silenced M4 carbine, along with grenades, C7 foaming explosive, thermite cord, knives, and the remaining array of the tools of the special operations trade.

Among them were five additional soldiers, though these were not special forces like the rest of the commandos; they were Dollet-trained nuclear demolitions specialists, who were going to be disabling the warheads once they were found.

Beside Squall walked Colonel Gamble, with whom he had spent the last few hours detailing the operation and how it was likely to go down. They both would have preferred more time to plan the mission, but they both knew that the clock was ticking and that a lot of it would have to be improvised on the way. Both Gamble and Squall knew that no plan survived first contact with the enemy, except when the plan had to be made up as it went along.

That was, unfortunately, why they had decided to send the best they had at this kind of on-the-fly planning for this operation.

"Good evening," Squall began as the two officers approached the group of commandos. The SeeDs and Eagles stopped what they were doing and immediately saluted, the Garden troops doing their traditional palm inwards gesture while the Dollet soldiers performed a more common forehead salute. Squall knew that they were directing the gesture at Gamble, and not at him; he had a standing policy that no one salute him.

"We've finished reviewing the operation," Gamble stated, and he walked over to a table and set a portable holographic projector on it - on loan from Esthar to Garden. He activated the projector, and a topographic map of Amorris Island One appeared.

"As of this point, we are participating in Operation Ghost Wire," Gamble explained. "You have already been divided up into five platoons, one per Salamander transport. Your groups will consist of four SeeDs, sixteen Eagle commandos, and one nuclear specialist."

"Twenty SeeDs?" Zell echoed, crossing his arms. "I thought we _weren't _trying to destroy the entire island chain." Chuckles came from the assembled troops.

"We'll be moving in at dawn, circling round from the east," Squall explained. "Garden is already moving into position to deploy our Salamanders. We'll have the sun at our backs, making visual detection hard. It'll also be too bright for night vision and our Salamanders have been outfitted to mask thermal and sonar imaging detection. We're keeping a low profile on this landing."

"Boss," Irvine commented, raising a hand. "Is this going to be like our covert insertion into the Lunatic Pandora three years ago? I thought we were keeping a low profile back then too." Selphie giggled, and Squall shook his head.

"Unless Ellis has sunk a lot of money into this operation, they likely won't have an energy shield to stop our landing," he replied.

"You will land at this small inlet here," Gamble explained, highlighting a small, secluded segment of the island. "You should be able to land, hit the dirt, and be inside the jungle in under three minutes; halfway through that the Salamanders should already be moving back out of the area and back to sea."

"Now, once you it the island," Squall continued, "This will be the tricky part. We have no idea where Ellis is keeping his warheads, so we will have to find them ourselves. This will involve securing and accessing Ellis' local data networks and procuring the information we need. Once we've located the warheads, we destroy them."

"Permission to speak sir?" asked one of the Eagles, and Squall nodded. "Captain Wagner, First Platoon, sir. This is probably the most half-assed op I've ever had the pleasure of going on, Commander."

"We know, Captain," replied Colonel Gamble. "Unfortunately, it's the best we can do on such short notice. We know that we will have to make up a lot of this as we go along."

"That's why I am personally leading this operation," Squall added, looking over his SeeDs. "For some reason you guys think I'm a good leader, so maybe this is my chance to finally prove you wrong." The deadpan delivery of that joke just made it more amusing for the assembled SeeDs, and snickers spread throughout the group.

"Very well then, gentlemen," Gamble added. "I want you all going over this mission plan, or what passes for one, for the next couple of hours, until we get into position."

"Yes sir!" replied the Eagles in unison, and they all saluted, the SeeDs following suit a moment later. The platoons began to break up into their assigned squads, conferring and looking over the maps and data, as if they knew exactly what they were getting themselves into.

Squall watched them, and honestly wondered if they really _did_ know what they were getting into today.

* * *

Duke Edwin Haroldington stepped into his office, and tried to calm his breathing down. Whenever he was stressed, it would get harder to breathe, especially considering how overweight he was. He really needed to get back into shape; ten years ago he was as fit as any soldier in the Dukedom, and now he was an overweight politician. 

_Hmph. No wonder Ellis despises me._

Edwin turned to close the door into his office when he nearly had a heart attack. The Duke jerked back as a shadow loomed over him, the door to the office already silently closed. In the dim light of the office's lone lamp, the man was clad in an ashen cloak and hood, over equally ashen shirt, trousers, and boots. Just beneath the breadth of his cloak was the slight bulge of a sword in its scabbard, and a number of other weapons were hidden beneath the folds of his clothes.

"When did you get here?" Edwin muttered as he recovered from his shock. The cloaked man shrugged, his expression, or what was visible of it, not shifting. Beneath the hood, the only visible parts of his face were his nose and mouth, both slender and defined, and with a faint, closely shaved brown goatee and mustache encircling his mouth.

"You put in the call at the usual number four hours ago," he replied calmly. "I've been here for twenty minutes, though getting past your security is becoming a greater challenge every time I pay a visit." Edwin nodded, taking that as a compliment as he sat down behind his desk.

"It is good that you're keeping up you infiltration skills," he stated, and the cloaked man nodded slightly. "I have a task for you that will test them, perhaps to their limits."

"Involving certain stolen nuclear warheads and a particularly dedicated Colonel pointing them at your head?" the man replied, and Edwin blinked in surprise.

"How did you-"

"I have my sources," the cloaked man answered instantly and cryptically. "I am no nuclear technician, so you have another need for my services aside from dealing with those warheads." Duke Edwin slowly nodded.

"Yes, I do," he replied. "I need you to _kill_ Colonel Ellis."

"Consider it done," replied the cloaked man, as if the Duke had asked him to smite a fly on the wall. The assassin leaned forward slightly. "Half now, half on delivery."

"Done," replied Edwin, relaxing slightly. "Also, you have a forty hour window, starting now. If you cannot take out the Colonel by then, we will take extraordinary measures to stop him. You . . . Might not survive these measures."

"Understood," replied the cloaked man.

"Thank you for your services, Alistair," Edwin finished, and the assassin replied with a slight bow, and then turned and stepped out of the Duke's office. Edwin considered calling his guards to inform them that the assassin would be passing through and to not stop him, but then realized that it would be unnecessary. If anyone in the building other than the Duke had seen Alistair pass by, it would have been a miracle.

* * *

Colonel James Ellis stared up into the beating winds rushing out from beneath the descending Albatross helicopter, and did not shield his face or blink. His aides did so, but he did not avert his eyes as the helicopter settled down into the landing pad outside the concrete bunker that served as his command and control center. The side doors slid open, and out stepped a mighty titan of a man. 

At six and a half feet tall, Captain Victor Crowe was a powerful, imposing figure of muscle stacked on muscle. Clad in a black shirt, jungle fatigue jacket and pants, and combat boots, his entire body seemed to have been built for strength since the day he was born. His black eyes, matching the color of his crewcut hair, peered across the landing pad, and a heavy .50 caliber sniper rifle was slung to his back, beside an equally heavy .50 caliber M2 machinegun. No normal man could carry a weapon that heavy, but Crowe was far from normal.

The huge man sniffed the air once or twice, almost like a hunting animal climbing out of a car, and then slowly smiled as a dozen additional men, almost as large as Crowe himself, clambered off the helicopter.

"I like it here," he commented as he stepped toward Colonel Ellis. "Nice and vibrant.' He extended a hand to the Colonel, who shook it, surprised by the strength in the huge man's grip. Even a slight squeeze hurt the Colonel's hand.

"Welcome to Amorris Island, Captain," Ellis stated, and Crowe nodded.

"Glad to be here," he replied. "Boss man says that we've got _SeeD_ trouble on the way, right?"

"That's right, Captain," responded Ellis as he and his men led Crowe and his troops toward the bunker. Crowe's smile widened, and a dangerous glint shot through his eyes.

"Good," he whispered. "_Payback_."

"We believe that they are going to approach via sea," explained Ellis. "That is what our source has told us, at least."

"Any idea where they'll touch down?" asked Crowe, and Ellis shook his head.

"There are a number of small inlets leading into the island," he replied. "Any of them could be used for a landing."

"Then we'll just have to watch the entire ocean," Crowe said with a nod. "I can handle that."

"You . . . Can?" echoed Ellis, to which the huge man chuckled, a deep, booming sound.

"Secrets of the Magi, Colonel," Crowe replied cryptically.

* * *

The cylinders of Lionheart clicked shut as Squall finished reloading his weapon, and he slid the crystalline gunblade into its sheath. He looked over the rest of his gear, including grenades, body armor, his M1911 sidearm, and an M4 carbine that featured cold-loaded subsonic ammunition and a silencer. Everyone else was going with a similar loadout, and several of the Black Eagles were carrying squad-support machineguns. They were trying to keep a low profile, but they were also armed and ready in case they couldn't avoid being seen. The last thing Squall wanted was a running battle in a tropical jungle with two thousand Dollet soldiers, but if they had to, Squall wanted his people ready for it. 

He peered over the Garage, where Alpha through Golf groups were loading their gear onto the Salamanders. They were less than twenty minutes from the launch of the operation, and that nervous atmosphere was thick on every operative's shoulders.

Slender arms suddenly closed around his shoulders and neck, and Squall momentarily tensed, before catching her scent and recognizing the hands and their slender fingers. He relaxed and turned around, lightly kissing Rinoa on the nose.

"Nervous?" she asked, and he hesitated. He wasn't going to lie to her; she knew it already.

"A little," he replied. "The same way we always get before a mission."

"Its different this time," the Sorceress replied, looking into his eyes with her own deep brown orbs, probing his thoughts. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"Not like I was when we took one Ultimecia," he replied. "But this is almost as bad. We fail, and Dollet will collapse, and half the continent may be destroyed."

"You'll win," Rinoa said intently. "I know you will. You don't know how to fail, Squall."

He managed a quiet chuckle at that, and slowly nodded.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" she added, and Squall nodded.

"You're still not trained for this kind of mission," he explained. "You've got experience, hell, more than most SeeDs, and power, but-"

"Out there I would just be a liability," she finished, nodding. "I understand. I'll be keeping an eye on you in the Ops Room, okay?" She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Good luck." He nodded as she broke away and started to leave, but Rinoa kept looking back over her shoulder at him. For his part, Squall did not break eye contact with her, watching her until she left the room. Finally, as Rinoa passed form sight, Squall turned toward the docked Salamanders and started toward them reminding himself that he had a very good reason to make it back alive.

Squall neared Salamander Alpha, the transport that would be carrying his group, and came across Zell and Irvine as they were finishing loading up their gear. Both SeeDs looked up at Squall and smirked, having seen the exchange from across the garage.

"What?" Squall asked, catching their expressions, and the two SeeD chuckled.

"Squall," Zell asked. "When are you going to pop the question, man?" The SeeD commander blinked and looked back at where Rinoa has vanished, and then to Zell, caught off-guard by the question.

"Look, Squall, we know you two are just about tied together anyway," Irvine added with a grin. "What's stopping you two from making it official?"

"Nothing, its just . . . ." Squall began, but then he stopped and shook his head. "I'll worry about that later. Right now we have a job to do."

"Whatever you say, boss," Zell replied, popping his knuckles. "Let's get this mission over with."

"Two thousand and more crack Dollet troops against twenty SeeDs and eighty Black Eagles," Irvine added as they split up and headed for their respective ships. "I feel sorry for those poor bastards on the islands."

* * *

The hum of processing computers and the clicking of technicians tapping on their keyboards filled the Ops room as Rinoa settled into a chair in an out of the way corner. Colonel Gamble and Xu were conferring as they watched the quintet of Salamanders take off, jetting across the ocean. Quistis walked beside Rinoa and sat down beside her, noting the intent way she stared at the display and the blips that symbolized her comrades' ships. 

"You okay?" she asked, and the Sorceress managed a chuckle.

"I think I'm more worried about this operation than they are," she remarked, and the Instructor nodded. They watched the radar contacts as they cut across the ocean, occasionally disappearing as their stealth technology rendered them momentarily invisible to the Garden radar systems. Even with transponders, point-to-point laser trackers, and Estharian-engineered sensor systems, they were having a hard time tracking the Salamanders' silhouettes; Ellis' forces would have almost no chance of finding them.

The long minutes passed with only the usual silence of a mission that was going well, when Squall's voice cut in over the radio.

"_Alpha to Group. Go radio silent. Switch to point-to-point laser communications."_

"_Bravo. Acknowledged."_ Selphie's voice still carried her rampant enthusiasm, even over the garbled radio transmission.

"_Charlie, copy,"_ came the crisp military voice of Captain Wagner.

"_Delta, switching over,"_ added Zell's voice.

"_Golf to Lead, already done, Commander,"_ Irvine added over the radio.

There was only silence for the next few minutes as the transports swept toward their target, closing with the island at high speeds. As the radio transponders shut down, the Salamanders began to disappear more intermittently, and they slowly turned on a course toward the small inlet. Within half an hour of their deployment the Salamanders were less than two miles out from the island.

"Any movement from Ellis' forces?" Xu asked,a nd one of the technicians shook his head.

"Nothing we can see, no pinging with sonar," he replied.

"Good," Colonel Gamble breathed. "Once they get to the island we'll actually have a much easier time with this operation. Insertion is where a lot of missions like this fail."

As Gamble was speaking, the point-to-point laser communications lit up as Irvine spoke.

"_Golf to Lead, I'm getting odd trip-back here on laser comms. Is your PTP acting odd?"_

"_Negative Golf. Salamanders, check PTP."_

"_Bravo, laser's fine."_

"_Copy that here, Lead."_

"_Charlie's clear, our PTP is-"_

"_Golf, you're lit up! Laser guided missiles inbound! Evasive!"_

Fear suddenly gripped Rinoa as the entire Ops Room went silent, and the five blips indicating the Salamanders began to scatter.

"Confirming SSM launch!" came a shout from the radar station.

"Squall, you've been detected, pull out!" Xu shouted over the radio as a dark dot cut across the screen toward Golf Squad's Salamander. An instant later, there was a flash, and Irvine's voice shot over the radio over the roar of an explosion.

"_Golf is hit! Repeat, we've taken a hit amidships!"_

"Multiple radar contacts, inbound!" shouted the radar officer. "Profile consistent with Albatross heavy transports!" More blips cut across the screen toward the Salamanders as they began to scatter.

"_Bravo, break off, enemy gunships closing in!"_

"_Under fire, repeat, under fire from ASMs-"_

"_Delta, we've taken hits aft, taking on water! Abandon ship!"_

"Pull them back!" Xu ordered. "Get them out of there!" The Salamanders were breaking off in full retreat, but they were moving sluggishly, as if weighed down. One of the radar blips, that of Charlie Squad's Salamander, went dark.

"_Alpha, this is Bravo, we've been hit amidships! All crew, abandon ship!"_

"_Charlie is gone, repeat, gone! Direct hit from ASM!"_

"_Pull back, pull back! Gunners, where is our fucking covering fire?"_

"_This is Delta, fires all over the ship! We're bailing!"_

Rinoa clenched the edge of her seat tightly as Delta vanished from the radar scope. Zell's ship . . . .

"_Bravo, abandon ship! You're burning!"_

"_You heard the man, bail out, go go g-" _Bravo vanished from the radar, as did Selphie's voice.

"_Bravo just exploded! Direct hit with anti-ship missiles!"_

"_Golf, pull out!"_

"_No can do, Commander! Heavy damage aft, we're bailing!"_

"_Go underwater and hide! Don't let those gunships hit you in the water!"_

"_Copy, we're-" _

Golf vanished from the radar as Alpha began to pull away as fast as possible. Squall's voice cut in over the radio.

"_Base, come in, come in, we have lost Bravo, Charlie, Delta, and Golf Salamanders! Repeat, we're-" _There was an explosion in the background, and Rinoa shot to her feet, horror shooting across her face as Alpha's Salamander slowed noticeably on the radar.

"_We're hit! Direct hit aft! All crew, abandon ship before-"_

Another explosion cut Squall off, and suddenly Alpha's Salamander vanished from the radar. Rinoa's heart went silent for an instant as she stared at the screen in mute horror.

Silence filled the Ops Room, cut only by the furious hammering of keys by the radar technicians. After several moments, one of the comms officers looked up, and shook his head grimly.

"They're gone. We lost them."

* * *

-

* * *

Nothing much to say about this chapter. Squall and Rinoa scene took a little bit of work to get done properly, but other than that this chapter came along real well. 

Until next chapter . . . .


	5. Chapter IV: Charlie Foxtrot

"_Charlie Foxtrot" is a euphemism for "This operation is not going quite as we'd hoped." A Charlie Foxtrot is never pretty. _

_On occasion, however, it can be shiny._

-Schlock Mercenary

_**Chapter IV: Charlie Foxtrot**_

He could hear the sound of gunfire and see the fires in the distance, and felt it though the waters that lapped against his body as he stood waist deep in the ocean, just off the shore of Island Two. The sea was complaining about the sudden and alien violence being waged on its surface, and he could understand its feelings. Naval battles were never pretty, but thankfully, this one was very short.

He waited, listening to the voice of the water, as those who lived through the initial assault plunged into the warm embrace of the salty waters, and smiled.

Captain Victor Crowe hoped a few of them made it ashore. Nature was disrupted by their presence, but if any managed to survive, they would be worth the time to hunt down.

* * *

In the ordinary progression of a mission, developments and complications generally followed a logical progression from SNAFU to FUBAR, with many variations in between, ultimately climaxing at Charlie Foxtrot when the entire mission went out the window. 

In this case, though, as Alpha Platoon's Salamander exploded, and burning hot shards of metal dug into his back while he was being hurled from the ship, Squall realized that things had jumped straight to Charlie Foxtrot in a couple of seconds, just before warm green ocean swam up into his mouth and he went several feet under the water. Training and instinct kicked in, and the SeeD Commander pivoted his body back toward the surface, snapped his legs out, and brought them together, pushing back up toward the surface. His head burst above the ocean surface, and he took a quick gasp of air as gunfire greeted him, along with the chopping rotors of attack helicopters, beating against the ocean surface.

To his left, thirty feet away, was the burning wreckage of the Salamander, rapidly being consumed by the ocean waves. Overhead, circling, were the fat-bodied forms of UH-89 Albatross helicopters as they swept across the ocean, their chainguns blazing at targets unseen.

_They're killing any survivors they can find._

"Ghost Wire," Squall shouted as he began to tread water for an instant, and pressed a hand to his ear and the radio hidden within. "Go under! All Ghost Wire personnel, go under, they're shooting survivors! Repeat, they are shooting survivors!"

Squall waited for an acknowledgement, but got none immediately. One of the helicopters started turning toward him, and he went under, plunging beneath the surface. He felt the rapid, small shockwaves from a dozen and more bullets cutting through the ocean as he dove.

_Standard issue weapons on Dollet helicopters include 5.56mm rounds. They fragment several inches after contact with solid or semi-solid bodies. Three or four feet under water is safe._

That thought from his survival training flashed through Squall's mind as he pumped his arms quickly, his Guardian Force enhanced strength propelling him through the water quickly and tirelessly, despite the weight of his gear. Though they had prepared their weapons before the landing, Squall had not been carrying his rifle or grenades on him, only his armor, gunblade, sidearm, knives, and radio. However, he knew that not all of the group was so lightly armed or armored, nor did they all possess Guardian Forces. The Black Eagles and the demolitions crew, and Irvine . . . .

_Worry later, get to shore now._

Everyone knew to do that if they had been compromised going in. Squall could only press forward, his arms pumping and legs kicking just beneath the surface, only momentarily rising for air before going below. With each ascent he heard the beating of chopper blades less and less, and saw the shoreline of the islands up ahead. He had no idea if he was heading for the right island anymore, and he didn't care. He needed to get to ground, reunite whoever was still alive, and then get on with the mission as best they could.

Reuniting survivors. That seemed to be a casual and callous reference to the possible deaths of his comrades, people he'd fought and bled with, whom he'd seen die once already. Irvine, Selphie, Zell . . . he didn't know if they were alive or dead anymore, and he couldn't help but feel like it was somehow his fault, that they should have waited, should have taken everything into account. He had planned the operation, and they had been relying on stealth to get inside the complex, and now they were ambushed and swimming to shore while being fired at from every direction.

As Squall pulled his arms back, he felt his hand momentarily brush his gunblade's handle, and enraged resolve cut across his features. If the enemy knew what was good for them, they would _pray_ someone survived, because the _last_ thing they would want was a Squall who had lost his friends and set loose on their island.

He rose for an instant above the ocean's surface, and saw beach directly ahead, the morning sunlight brightening the approach. No enemy soldiers were waiting for him to arrive, and it almost didn't matter if there were, considering the anger that was working its way through Squall at that moment. His arms pumped, propelling him toward the shore, and seconds later he hit wet sand, the waves propelling him onto the shore. Wasting no time, Squall scrambled forward into the comparatively chill air over the beach, sand clinging to his armor and fatigues as he rose on the beach. He drew his gunblade immediately, as he spied the thick jungle no more then fifty feet away, and the SeeD's legs pumped as he dashed for the jungle. Somewhere behind him, the thump of an approaching helicopter could be heard, and he wasted no time moving into the darkened safety of the foliage.

* * *

Pain struck Irvine's left leg as he struggled to swim toward the shore. The helicopter overhead was firing wildly into the water, and he could hear men cry out as they intercepted bullets. The helicopter was dipping low, almost within ten or so feet of the ocean surface, and the men inside were firing rifles at the survivors of the explosion. The Galbadian SeeD pumped his arms as he cut through the ocean water, and reluctantly reached up to release the straps on his armor. The heavy ceramic and kevlar gear slid off, lightening his load, and Irvine swam harder and faster toward the shoreline. 

His firearms training and knowledge told him to stay low under the surface, but he surfaced for a moment, looking around for any survivors on the surface. He saw no one, and heard one of the helicopters swooping toward him, and thus dove under. He could only hope anyone else was alive and were making their way toward the shore, including-

_Selphie!_

Irvine surfaced again, his already pounding heart racing as he looked around for Selphie.

"Selphie!" he shouted, turning in the water, arms flailing as he treaded water. He glanced around, looking for any sign of-

Blood erupted from his torso as two rounds slashed through his body, and pain flashed through Irvine's body. He fell back, plunging under the ocean surface, salt water flowing into the wound. He tried moving his left arm, but found it no responding as his right pumped, bringing him back above the water, gasping for breath. The roar of the overhead helicopter and its blazing machineguns filled the air, and the water exploded around Irvine as the chopper continued blasting away at the survivors. The ocean rose up to swallow the sharpshooter once again, and he slid beneath the waves before the helicopter could shoot him again.

_Not abandoning Selphie!_

His working right arm pumped as he dropped beneath the waves, and Irvine ignored the pain in his shoulder as he pushed toward the wreckage of Selphie's Salamander. His lungs rapidly began to burn as crimson flowed into the seawater surrounding him, and Irvine began to rise back up to the surface. His head broke above the waves and he gulped down air, and went back under, just before his right leg exploded in agony just above the knee.

His arms flailed and his legs pumped, but the strength within his body was fading. The water began to darken and deepen as he felt himself sliding beneath the ocean despite the frantic flailing of his body. Irvine opened his mouth to shout in defiance, reaching up toward the ocean surface with his right arm, air bubbles escaping from his mouth as blubbed Selphie's name one last time. Water flowed into his lungs, and darkness swam up into his perceptions, consuming his mind and body.

* * *

"Okay, I think we're done!" shouted Leon Doppel over the Albatross' intercom. He stood up, hefting his rifle as he peered over the wreckage. Unlike other Asp troops, he preferred the contoured grip and sleek design of an AUG bullpup rifle over the utilitarian M4. "Swing us down low, check to see if anyone survived and bring them in!" 

"Sir?" asked one of the Asp troopers, raising an eyebrow. Doppel shook his head.

"We're dealing with SeeDs," he shouted. "This was necessary! The Colonel didn't want us to take any chances."

The Albatross helicopters swung low, spotlights flashing over the ruined Salamanders and the dozens of corpses strewn about the waters. Fires blazed in the remains of the transports, but there was no movement among the bodies. The helicopters moved around slowly, checking each ship to make absolutely certain that everyone was dead.

A minute later, with negative reports coming in from each helicopter, Doppel shook his head and pointed to the pilot, before nodding. The pilot began to turn the Albatross around, when one of the mercenaries shouted something. Spotlights shifted to center on the broken husk of one of the sinking Salamanders, and at a single figure on the bow of the ship. For a moment there seemed to be no movement, but Doppel narrowed his eyes and leaned out the side of the transport, and spotted a slight bit of motion in the figure's chest.

"Clear to fire, top?" asked the helicopter's gunner, but Doppel shook his head.

"Bring us closer, get him on board," he replied. "Colonel wants survivors interrogated." Doppel left out the fact that the Asp mercenaries had been the ones to choose the gun down any survivors from the Salamanders, mostly because they didn't want to worry with capturing survivors. Still, the Colonel would be suspicious if they killed _everyone_.

At his order, the Albatross swung over, descending so low that the landing gear nearly touched the ocean surface. Doppel and another Asp mercenary leaned out and grabbed the wounded man as the Salamander began to finally slide beneath the waves. They hauled him on board, surprised at how heavy he was, and the Albatross began to ascend.

"One survivor," the pilot was reporting, as Doppel flipped the wounded man onto his back, even as another mercenary opened a medical kit. The man was bleeding from three ragged holes in his torso; Doppel didn't think a normal person could have survived that much abuse, and when he checked the man's face, his questions were answered.

"Dincht," he grunted, chuckling as he saw the semi-conscious brawler's facial tattoos. "Zell _fucking_ Dincht. They sent you out here with this group? If that's the case . . . ."

Doppel rose and put on a radio headset, and switched over to the command channel.

"HQ, be advised, we have captured SeeD Zell Dincht. Let the boys know we may be dealing with Leonhart and his crew out here. I'm sure Crowe and his Magi buddies will be interested in hearing that."

* * *

"We _have_ to go after them!" 

Quistis knew that look on her friend's face, and she knew it would be hard to put some sense into Rinoa when she was like this, especially when she looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Her hands were shaking, and she had a wild, desperate look in her eyes as she pleaded with Quistis and Xu.

"We can't, Rinoa," Xu explained, for the tenth time. "Anti-ship defenses are-"

"Are you saying we should just abandon them?" Rinoa demanded, glaring at Xu, as if she had been the one to fire the missiles that sank the Salamanders.

"No," Xu replied firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. Beside her, Quistis glanced outside the conference room, and at the officers and technicians scrambling in the ops room. She certainly understood Rinoa's feelings - for Hyne's sake, four of her best friends had possibly been _killed_ - but she needed to remain cool and detached.

It was hard to do, seeing the long range radar contacts and the enemy helicopters strafing the wrecked ships. Quistis wished she had the icy veins of her colleague.

"Rinoa, we have to be realistic here," Xu explained. "Amorris Island is too well-defended. They caught our stealth Salamanders, and its in the middle of the morning now. There is _no way_ we can get a rescue team out there fast enough, not without them getting killed too."

Quistis could see the pain welling up in Rinoa's eyes at Xu's blunt explanation, and sympathized; the SeeD officer's words his her hard too. She didn't want to admit the odds that anyone was even still alive, but . . . .

"But . . . . We're SeeD! Garden! Nothing can stop us! We have to . . . ." Rinoa trailed off as she saw the honest, sad expressions on the faces of her friends, and realized that they were just as distressed as she. The Sorceress could see that they understood the consequences of launching a rescue operation, and how hopeless it really was.

She wanted to cry. Helpless anger filled Rinoa as she looked down at the table, and in a sudden burst of white hot fury, she pounded both hands on the table. The was a flash of light, and the table shook under the blast of anger, followed by a high-pitched _crack_ as the bullet-proof windows of the conference room fractured under the power of her blow.

She glanced to the damage she had just done, and Rinoa turned her gaze down toward the floor sheepishly, realizing what a fool she was making of herself. Shaking her head, Rinoa sank into one of the chairs, and Quistis stepped around beside her, draping a hand over her friend's shoulders.

"Xu, contact Cid," the blonde woman ordered, looking up to her colleague. "We have some bad news. Lag . . . President Loire won't be happy to hear this." Xu frowned and nodded, and knew that Quistis would be better at comforting the emotional Sorceress. Without another word, Xu stepped out of the conference room, and began shouting orders.

* * *

Something pounded against his chest, and he felt fluid burst from his mouth. The pounding repeated once again, and then a third time, and he felt something warm and soft press against his lips. Hot breath dove down his throat, and filled his waterlogged lungs. The pounding repeated again, four times, and the lips touched his again, blowing down his windpipe. He instinctively knew that the lips were soft, small, and _feminine_. 

"Come on, Irvine," he heard a voice whisper urgently, and the pounding repeated on his chest. His mind connected the voice to someone he cared about, and at that moment the semi-conscious sharpshooter realized he was laying in coarse, wet sand.

The familiar lips pressed against his mouth again, and in his clouded mental state, Irvine did what came most natural to him. His right arm shot up, closing over the back of her head, his fingers threading through her soft hair, and pulled her down as he kissed her.

He heard her muffled exclamation of surprise as he held her close, and she started to pull back. His arm was thrown aside by her instinctive retreat and her unnatural strength, and in the back of his mind, he cursed Balamb Garden's Guardian Force policy. Irvine opened his eyes, and then closed them again as he looked up into the bright morning sun.

"Irvine, _you_ . . . ." he heard Selphie mutter in surprise and slight anger. The sharpshooter managed a laugh, and then felt small hands thread under his armpits.

"You are _so_ lucky I found you as you were going under," she muttered as she easily dragged the Galbadian cowboy up the beach, and under the comforting shade of the jungle. Irvine opened his eyes again and looked up to her as she dragged him for another minute, before stopping under a large tree and propping him up against it. Selphie stepped around in front of him and crouched before Irvine as he felt his strength returning. Pain shot through his body, especially from where he'd been shot during the swim. He grunted, and looked up to Selphie's concerned face, and momentarily marveled at her pixie-like beauty, even as she focused and cast a healing spell over his wounds.

"How did you find me?" he asked as the white light played over his injuries, and the pain subsided. The bullet had gone clean through, so the wound sealed easily, and the sharpshooter leaned forward as he felt his strength returning in full.

"They were using tracers," she replied with a shrug, her face shifting to a smile as she saw Irvine recovering. "I swam toward your ship, and when I saw them shooting at one particular spot, I swam toward it. I saw you go under, and dove after you. I thought you were dead . . . ." The concern returned to her face along with what Irvine knew were painful memories of fear for his safety. He reached forward, grasping her shoulder and squeezing.

"But thanks to you, I'm _not,_" he replied, and flashed her his best grin. "And now we're both alive. You did good." Her smile returned, and Irvine knew he did his job; a frown on Selphie's face was a tragedy for the whole world, as far as he was concerned.

The moment together was suddenly cut off by the roar of a helicopter's chopping rotors. Both SeeD rose to their feet, and Irvine reached inside his coat, checking for his weapons. Thankfully, most of his guns had made it through the swim, and his Valiant rifle was strapped to his lower back, where it should have been. He drew it out, and wiped off the sand that had gotten on the barrel, even as Selphie gripped her nunchaku tightly.

A thought struck Irvine, and he quickly looked down, before blanching. He had been bleeding from his leg wound, and a trail of blood led through the woods, right to their position.

"Selphie, we have to move!" he hissed, and she followed his gaze, to the blood trail.

The SeeDs then heard the growl of a heavy engine, and recognized the sound of a light assault vehicle, no less than a mile away, coming from the direction of the beach. Without another word, the two broke and ran deeper into the forest. Colonel Ellis' troops owned this island, and they were closing in.

* * *

It had been less than an hour after the SeeD force had been ambushed, and the rugged four-wheeled Dollet light assault vehicle rolled to a stop on one of the sandy beaches on eastern side of the island. Soldiers poured out the sides of the vehicle, clad in body armor and loose, light fatigues appropriate to the jungle. Among them came the huge, heavyset bear of Captain Crowe, who sniffed the air as his boots hit the sand. He set the sniper rifle he carried on his shoulder as he furrowed his brow, and stepped away from the vehicle. The Asp mercenaries fanned out as they searched the beach. 

Crowe dropped to one knee and ran his left hand through the sand. He closed his eyes, and nodded, before standing and glancing to the soldiers as they moved across the beach, looking for any signs of passage.

"they definitely came ashore here," he said as he walked down the beach, sniffing the air, his movements reminiscent of a bloodhound. He glanced down at the sand, and started up the beach, looking left and right, but his focus was not on the sand itself, but on something _else_ -

"Captain!" came a call, and Crowe looked up, to see one of his troops waving a hand. He moved toward the man, but well before he reached him, Crowe caught a faint scent in the air: _blood._

Moments later, as he reached the soldier, the bearded officer could see a thin trail of crimson cutting through the sand, and nodded. His left hand touched his ear, and the radio.

"Colonel, we've got _confirmation_ that at least one came ashore here," he declared. For a moment there was silence, before he got an acknowledgement.

"_Understood, Captain. Hunt them down. Try to take some of them alive, but if you have to, kill them."_

"They're _SeeDs_, Colonel. Unlike my boss, I don't differentiate between one SeeD and another," Crowe replied curtly, and cut off the transmission, leaving things at that. It was annoying that the Colonel didn't trust his judgments, but then again, it was understandable, coming from a soldier who didn't know much of or trust magic, particularly magic that was . . . unorthodox. But that didn't make Crowe any less accurate, as this had just shown.

"Keep searching," Crowe ordered to his men, and then he touched his ear-mounted radio once more. "Doppel, I need more men. We've definitely got at least three SeeDs on shore, probably more."

"_You're certain?"_ came the reply from Doppel, and Crowe grunted as he looked to the water.

"The ocean doesn't lie," he replied. "It told me at least three people came ashore somewhere along this beach. It already told me where their little boats were, too, remember?"

"_Okay, understood. Diverting two companies to your sector. You're leading the hunt?"_ Crowe laughed out loud at that question.

"The forest is where I'm the most dangerous," he replied, and a predatory grin spread across his features. "They're in the woods, I can _feel_ it. And when prey goes into the woods, it doesn't escape a shaman's eyes." He lowered the rifle from his shoulder, and started toward the edge of the forest, waving a hand to catch the attention of his troops. They moved away from the beach as Crowe neared the treeline, where the blood led into the woods. He paused, touching one of the trees, and nodded.

_The hunt begins,_ he thought, with savage hunger, and he plunged into the forest after the escaping SeeDs.

* * *

-

* * *

Gasp! An update? 

Yes, this chapter is a wee bit on the short side . . . at least as far as my stuff tends to go. I got a bit distracted while writing this thing . . . .

Anyway, next chapter, we should expect a bit more jungle hunting and a few new, freaky twists on the story. Hee . . . .

Until next chapter . . . .


End file.
